Rosalie's Revenge
by Consultant by Day
Summary: We know Rosalie killed her assailants; this is the story of how she did it. Peek inside her brain as she stalks the men who brutalized her, becomes friends with Edward and falls in love with Emmett. 11/23: Now complete. All characters, etc. S. Meyer's
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: All belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

CHAPTER 1

"What are you doing, Rosalie?"

"Nothing," I hissed at Edward. I was irritated that he had found me. I flicked my hair over my shoulder.

"So I am annoying you?" He sounded amused. I clenched my teeth. I kept forgetting about his little trick.

"No more than usual," I answered, turning my back to him so I could continue watching the house. "Leave me alone, Edward."

I made a show out of taking a comb and compact out of the pocketbook that I still carried out of habit. I knew how shallow he thought I was. Maybe I could disgust him enough that he'd want to leave. I expertly clicked open the compact and gazed at my reflection. Even I had to admit, I was more beautiful than ever.

"What are you going to do for all eternity, comb your hair? Honestly, Rosalie," he chided gently.

I allowed myself a small grin of triumph. I liked knowing I could get under his skin just as much as he got under mine. My victory was short-lived, however; he gracefully folded himself next to me.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" he persisted.

"Do what?"

"You know what I mean."

I looked away, back through the bright, tiny window in the distance. My friend, Vera, was there in the light. I'd watched them around the family dinner table, her husband gently teasing her for her overcooked pork roast. He'd pulled her in tight next to him, a hand on her hip, making her blush. The baby – he was more of a toddler now – pounded his high chair tray with a spoon, sending peas and mashed potatoes flying.

I sighed. "I don't want to forget what they took from me."

I felt Edward's hand on my shoulder. A little puff of breath rose from him. I remembered how odd it had seemed the night I realized I didn't have to breathe. Breathing was optional. Remembering was not.

"It would be better if you just let go, you know."

I shook my head crossly. What did he know about it? He would have died anyway. I had been robbed.

"I still didn't choose, Rosalie. My future is not exactly what I had thought it would be, either."

I didn't acknowledge him. I didn't care what he said; it was still different. A tinkle of laughter floated from inside the house. They were pushing away from the table.

"Don't get too attached, Rose. They'll be gone one day."

His words surprised me. I wasn't attached. I was jealous. Didn't he know the difference?

I turned to face him, a sharp retort on my lips, but he was gone. I settled down, alone in the trees for the night, willing myself to watch the life I would never have play out in front of me.

There had been a big fuss at first, of course. The clock hadn't even struck midnight when my father had dragged out the constable. It didn't take long for them to find out when I'd left Vera's house. Nor did it take long to find the blood and the brass buttons scattered in the street. Even though the snow kept falling, it was too much to cover.

Royce's parents swore up and down that he'd been at the Club and came home early, like a dutiful boy. He swore up and down that he would find me; he even posted a big reward to anyone who could provide information.

No one did, of course. The only reason I even knew any of this was that Edward had assiduously watched and listened, afraid that somehow the fact that I was _known_ would make it easy for them to find me, exposing the Cullens' little secret.

But no one looked too hard. Both of my parents were ashamed. Deep down, my father knew what had happened. He didn't know who had done it, but he knew what they'd done. Who would want me after that? It was better if I didn't come back; better to be dead. My mother somehow blamed me.

Both of their dreams of social glory were snuffed out by the furtive glances and stares of pity that met them wherever they went.

Neither one of them could look Royce's parents in the eye.

After a few months of handwringing, they quietly erected a monument in the Rochester cemetery and held a quiet memorial service. The minister talked about eternal life and I, from the woods in which I hid, snickered. What was so great about eternal life if you had to spend it alone?

Then everyone went home and went about their business of forgetting. After a few more months, Mr. King had quietly suggested that my father retire from the bank. My mother put away all the photos of me, her once golden-haired favorite. My things were packed away in boxes and given to charity. It was as if I'd never existed.

I could barely fathom this. How could anyone forget me, Rosalie Hale? My future had been stolen, and so had my illusion that I mattered, that I was loved. Even my past was being swept away by people eager to forget.

And all the while, Royce's black heart sang with joy that it had been so easy.

That is when I knew, I _vowed_, that I would make him pay.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

It was too soon for me to get close to humans – the smell of their blood was too overpowering, too enticing. But the oily, musky scent that seeped out of Royce's pores didn't bother me in the same way. It simply revolted me. His smell, his false smile, his ingratiating laugh, the way he would leer at the maid who had to scurry by him in the narrow hallways in the back of his house – all of it disgusted me. How had I never seen it before?

Every time I got too close to Royce, the smell of him overwhelmed me and I'd get that same suffocating feeling that I'd had when he'd covered up my mouth to keep me from screaming. But I _had_ to get close enough to watch him, because I had to figure out which of his friends had been there that night. My mind refused to offer up the one thing I needed to pursue revenge. Other than Royce, it wouldn't yield to me the identity of my attackers.

Once I realized I didn't have to breathe, my biggest obstacle disappeared. I was sure fate would bend to my will, even if my memory wouldn't.

"What are you going to do, kill _all_ of his friends?" Edward had asked, doubt shining in his topaz eyes, when I was no longer able to hide my thoughts from him. "Your mind has blanked out those details for a reason, Rosalie. That's how trauma works."

I lifted my chin. "They'll give something away, eventually. Even if I have to watch them all talk in their sleep for the next ten years, I'll do it. I have nothing but time."

Edward let me watch Royce, but he, in turn, observed me discreetly from a distance. When I would return to the Cullens' home on the few occasions I managed to give him the slip, he'd always rush to scour my mind for any sign of weakness, any hint that I was about to lose control.

He'd grudgingly let me by when he'd satisfied himself that I wasn't a threat. I'd force my thoughts on him as I brushed past, letting him wallow in guilt knowing that I knew he didn't care about me; all he cared about was his precious family.

In the end, it was my dear old father who put things in motion. I'd taken to watching Royce playing cards late at night. Most evenings he and his friends would play at the King home, but this night they'd gone to the Club. Mrs. King was hosting a tea the next day and she didn't want any of her preparations disturbed.

The card salon at the Club was right off of the mahogany bar, which gleamed in the lamplight. Even from my perch in the trees outside, I could smell the swirl of tobacco smoke and hear the clink of the crystal tumblers as they downed one round of scotch after another. The boys were loud, but suddenly their rough laughter stopped. Through the window, I spied an old man standing wearily in their midst.

"Mr. Hale," Royce said formally, slurring his words. He sloshed down his glass and attempted to get up, struggling to pull his chair from the poker table.

"Mr. King." My father looked small. I almost felt sorry for him.

Another awkward silence ensued before my father continued. "Well, then. Good evening." He turned and went back to the parlor.

A handful of the young men – the ones at Royce's table – tittered nervously, filling the silence. Royce abruptly burst into a full guffaw. His friends looked up, startled, and then joined in, elbowing each other as they shared the private joke of their crime.

I looked around the table. I knew them all.

Andrew King, Royce's cousin.

John Parker, who'd just joined his father's law firm.

Smith Aldington, home from Princeton for a visit.

"What's so funny?" demanded a boy from the other table, his cheeks red with indignation.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Peter Thompson – Royce's best friend from primary school, was not in on the joke. He was to have stood as our best man; for some reason, his innocence gave me some amount of comfort.

Royce. Andrew. John. Smitty. The memory of that night flooded back, and I remembered the stupid, drunken looks on their faces. I knew there was one more – the image of the mysterious stranger from Georgia still lurked in my mind – but it was a start.

I knew my prey. Now I needed a plan.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Special thanks to prettypinkbookworm for her beta readings**

CHAPTER 3

Edward was watching me from across the room, his angelic face ruined by a slight frown of concentration.

It was late – around 2 a.m. – and I'd just returned after following Royce home from a tavern. Every night I followed one of them, each night testing myself to see how much closer I could get before they'd sense they weren't alone. So far they hadn't.

And now I sat at the table, tapping my pencil impatiently as I worked out my plan.

I needed to figure out the Georgian's identity. And I needed, more than anything, a way to kill each one of them. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted them to know that it was me who was doing it. I wanted them to suffer the torture of anticipating that I was coming for them. More than anything, I wanted their families to know what monsters their precious sons were.

But I couldn't draw blood.

My pencil snapped in two, sawdust trickling through my fingers. Edward stifled a laugh.

I glared at him and returned to my thoughts. Even though I hadn't chosen this…life, I did respect Carlisle. And I was more than a little afraid of him. He hadn't really done anything to make me afraid. He'd treated me kindly and, as far as I could tell, his motivation in changing me was honest. He hadn't wanted to see me suffer and die; he'd hated to see "the waste" of my life, as he put it.

But the discipline with which he ruled his own desires and those of his family was awe-inspiring. My own thirst was nearly unbearable at times, and the temptation to take just a taste of the human blood all around me was great. Yet the entire family abstained. I couldn't imagine it was because they actually _identified_ with the humans – they were clearly so superior on every dimension.

No, it was out of fear; fear of Carlisle. Edward's terror that we'd be discovered because of me was written all over his face. I could only imagine Carlisle's fury if that came to pass. I couldn't risk being tempted by the blood. Unrestrained, Carlisle would be terrifying.

"You really don't understand, do you?" Edward's incredulous voice broke into my thoughts. He had a terrible habit of doing that.

"I don't know what you mean," I said stiffly. _Go away. Leave me alone._

He ignored my thoughts and took a seat at the table, folding his elegant hands lightly in front of him.

"Carlisle doesn't think of himself as above the humans. He cares about them. And he doesn't abstain out of fear. He – we – think it is wrong to feed on them."

I looked at him darkly. _Then why do you always act so afraid? Why are you so worried about what __I__ do?_

He sighed dramatically, as if he were explaining to a petulant child why he couldn't have its candy before dinner.

"I'm not afraid of Carlisle, if that's what you think. Carlisle doesn't get angry, Rosalie, and he doesn't lose control. He would as soon cut off his own arm as punish any one of us.

"But I'm horribly afraid of disappointing him. He's been like a father to me. He's worked hard, for centuries, to make it possible for us to live this way. I'd hate for any one of us to ruin that."

"You don't think I'm strong enough," I accused, my chin lifting in defiance. _How dare you think that you are better than me?_

He sighed again and rubbed his temples. "It's not that, Rosalie. It's just that you're still a newborn. You haven't built up your defenses yet. We all were like that at one time. And when I factor in how…emotional you're likely to feel at the moment when you're facing your attackers, I worry for you. It would be very hard to stay in control."

He paused and a strange look came over him. He pressed his lips into a grim line and balled his fists up tightly. With effort, he spread his fingers out on the dark wood of the kitchen table.

"It makes me livid just thinking what they did to you. I can't imagine what it will be like for you."

I suddenly felt very small. I hid my hands in my face, unable to look at him, unable to say the words out loud. _I can't taste them. They can't be inside of me. Not again._

It was a long time before Edward broke the silence.

"I don't know what to tell you, Rose," he said, pulling my hands away from my face. He searched my eyes. I knew he was trying to read my thoughts, so I concentrated on reciting the pieces of the Magna Carta that somehow stuck in my memory.

He let my hands go and continued. "Could you just put it behind you? You can't let what they did to you define you."

I shook my head fiercely. _The only way for me to move on is to see them punished._

He pushed back in his chair, sparks of frustration in his golden eyes.

"Well, what's your plan, then?" he challenged.

"I don't have one yet, and you know it," I said miserably.

An amused look flitted across his face. He cocked one eyebrow and looked at me expectantly.

"The only way I can think of to actually kill them without drawing blood is to break their necks," I admitted.

"Seems reasonable," Edward replied, crossing his arms and settling back even further in his chair. "Very neat and clean."

"Exactly," I said, triumph ringing in my voice. He was coming around to my point of view.

"Have you ever actually broken an animal's neck, Rosalie? A Sunday chicken, perhaps?"

"No, of course not," I responded huffily. "You know we didn't keep animals. But it can't be that difficult."

"Hmmm. I see," he continued, the corners of his mouth pulling up ever so slightly. "A scrawny little chicken neck; that is easy. Even a human can do that. Of course, a struggling person might be a little different. But as you say, how hard could it be?"

I scowled at him. I hated it when he got so pleased with himself. Especially when I had no idea what he was getting at.

He laughed out loud, a glorious sound like bells.

"Let's try a little experiment, shall we? Do you think you can skip one evening of stalking to indulge me?"

I looked at him skeptically. "What do you mean?"

"Trust me. You'll be glad you did this. Just be ready tomorrow night, say around midnight. I will have a surprise all ready for you."

I crossed my arms. I didn't trust him.

"Rosalie," he whispered, leaning in close. "It's a wonderful opportunity to prove me wrong."

_Damn you. You know exactly how to push me._

He laughed again, calling behind him as he swept out of the room, "Midnight then. Just don't wear anything too nice."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Thanks again to prettypinkbookworm for her beta read**

CHAPTER 4

Midnight came. Edward met me at the back door. He looked me up and down and I smiled prettily, smoothing down my skirts.

"Can you run in that?" he asked, frowning.

"Try me," I growled, glowering at him for his lack of appreciation.

He ran ahead of me, darting in and out of back alleys until we reached the outskirts of town. We darted past farms and finally headed deeper into the woods. The occasional glance of moonlight set his skin sparkling. The beauty of it, and the exhilaration of our speed, heightened my anticipation.

Suddenly he slowed to a walk.

"Here we are," he said, gesturing ahead to a small dirt clearing. Even from that distance, I could clearly see the enormous pig tied to a tree. The pig quivered and squealed, shrinking against the underbrush as we approached.

"You brought me all the way out here tonight to see a pig?" He had some nerve.

"Most people don't realize it, but a pig's musculature and anatomy is the closest approximation of a human's of any domestic animal."

I stared at him blankly.

He grinned, a look of mischief lighting his face. "I thought that perhaps it would be wise for you to try your hand at this neck-breaking business, just to be sure it is as neat and clean as you have envisioned. This pig is over a hundred and fifty pounds; it should give you a fairly good approximation of some of those boys."

I settled myself down on a stump. "Honestly, Edward." I swung my foot impatiently. He just stood there, grinning like a fool.

"Wherever did you get such a thing?" I demanded, doing my best to sound above it all. "I can't imagine that a pig that enormous goes missing without a farmer noticing."

"I have my ways," he replied, his smile deepening as he crossed his arms. "And I can keep getting them, too. That is, unless you prove me wrong and you don't need to perfect your technique."

His eyes narrowed as he watched me, but the smile never left his face.

"Fine," I spat, rising from the stump. "Step aside."

"Would you like me to untie the hog?" he offered politely.

"No, thank you," I said formally. "That won't be necessary. I plan to tie my victims up before I kill them."

"Very well," he said, stepping to the edge of the clearing, his face an expressionless mask.

I stepped gingerly toward the pig. It was white with black spots with big bushy hair sprouting up all over it. It was truly a hideous thing. _Good,_ I thought. _I can concentrate on how ugly it is. I need to hate it, just like I hate them._

The pig cowered and I circled.

"Just a quick snap and it will all be over," I said, more to myself than to Edward.

"Yes," Edward said, his smooth voice floating across the clearing to me. "The pig is lucky, for its death will be fast and painless. I imagine Royce and the others will suffer. They will need to pay for what they've done to you, won't they?"

Edward's words stuck in my brainandI felt my ire rising. I looked at the pig, but it wasn't the animal that I saw. It was the faces of my attackers, the mean look in their eyes as they forced themselves upon me. My anger surged, fresh as the night I'd woken up a vampire, unable to count on even the blessing of sleep to block out the horror of my violation.

The scent of the pig's blood wafted across the night air. I could smell its fear. My instincts heightened. Shame and anger burned in my brain, competing with the rush of venom in my mouth for my attention. In my mind, I heard the men's taunts and felt the wet snow on my back. I dove in for the kill.

My arms wrapped around the pig and I pulled it on its hind legs. _I'll show you, Edward. This pig is nothing! Just like those men will be nothing. _The pig's high-pitched squeals echoed in the recesses of my mind, making it hard to concentrate as it struggled against me. The beating of the pig's heart thundered in my ears, tempting me. I tightened my grip, jerking and twisting the neck violently.

Through my confusion, I heard a distinct crunch, followed by a pop.

The squeals suddenly stopped. The crushed head of the pig was flying across the clearing, showering the dirt with blood and brains. Thick, heady blood spurted everywhere from the gaping hole I'd left at the neck, leaving my face and arms slick. I sucked in my breath, throwing the carcass to the ground, my instincts racing wildly between disgust and desire.

"Mmm. Smells like chicken," Edward commented dryly from the sidelines.

"Shut up, Edward," I spat through my teeth. I hated being proven wrong, especially when it was Edward who was right.

"Perhaps it is not so easy, is it?" he wondered out loud, covering the distance between us in a second. "Just think if this had been a human, Rosalie," he challenged, breathing softly in my ear. "What would happen next? Would you be lapping up the blood from the dirt? Would the police find you the next morning, drunk with blood lust?"

I looked down at my dress. It was drenched with blood and covered with things I didn't even recognize. Yet even though the blood was already dead, the smell of it tempted me. I couldn't keep my nostrils from flaring as the wind wafted up the odor of the pig's wasted essence.

Edward caught my eye. My movement had given me away. I stood speechless before him. My body sagged, limp with disappointment.

He reached up and flicked a piece of gore out of my hair, letting his hand rest in my hair. I lifted my eyes, expecting to see the familiar look of admiration.

All I saw was pity.

I stepped away from him, confused.

"If you insist on doing this, you have to do it right." He dropped his hand and looked down at me sternly, his shoulders square and straight. "I'll help you. Not because I want you to do this, but because I know I can't stop you. But you have to do it my way."

"Which means?" I asked wearily.

"Which means, for starters, that you will be training with pigs until you can manage to keep the pigs in one piece when you kill them. Nothing else until then. No stalking. No searching for the Georgian. Nothing.

"Do you accept this condition?" He searched my face.

"Fine," I said bitterly, slumping down on the stump. I couldn't think of any other way, given he constantly watched me and could read my mind at will.

"It's not so bad, is it?" he said, a smile lighting his face. "It's better for you than for the pigs of Rochester," he joked. I looked up at him bleakly. I felt uneasy, but couldn't pinpoint why. _Why couldn't I recognize my own emotions?_

The stern look in Edward's eyes melted away. "You don't have the physical cues you relied on as a human. No flush of cheek to signal embarrassment. No heart, beating and bursting out of your heart, to affirm that you are angry." He stretched out a hand to help me up. "Let's go home."

I was still confused. What I felt was unfamiliar; the strange, unsettled feeling that had crept under my skin burrowed deeper, refusing to give way to Edward's explanation.

But in the back of my mind, a little satisfied voice said, _at least he isn't stopping you from getting what you want_.

Slowly, I reached out to take his hand. I tossed my curls and smiled at him as brilliantly as I could. But not even the thrill of the run home could not help me shake the feeling that, once again, something was irreversibly shifting in my world.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Thanks to prettypinkbookworm for beta reading and Happy Holidays to all!**

CHAPTER 5

It took me three months to master the pig killing. In part, it took me this long because of the difficulty I had in learning the right balance of speed and pressure to make a clean kill. The rest of it was because of the careful distance Edward put between each of his pig-snatchings. I didn't get very frequent practice.

Eventually, though, I learned to appreciate the delicate structure of a pig's neck: the way the bones joined with tendon to the muscles; the delicate cushion of cartilage cradling vertebrae; the subtle tension that kept the whole structure in balance; its amazing strength and flexibility; and the surge of life, pulsing through the arteries that snaked right through and past the bone.

I learned, with practice, how popping one piece of bone out of place would cause the whole column to collapse. I learned how the twist of my strong hands could render the whole animal lifeless, turning what had been a living, breathing being into a twitching heap at my feet, a mere carcass. I learned to ignore the temptations of the blood just below the surface of the skin in order to earn the greater satisfaction of vengeance.

The first time I'd managed to bring a hog down with no blood, I'd danced in the clearing, whooping and hollering as I'd never done as a child. The soft whooshing sound of the airway collapsing under my grip filled my mind; to me, it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

"Come on, Edward, let's celebrate!" I'd grabbed his hands and pulled him along with me as I twirled and twirled under the moonlight. He went unwillingly, lurching after me in a way that belied his natural grace. I tilted my head up, smiling, hoping to catch his eye.

His golden eyes did not mirror back my triumph. They weren't even filled with the admiration that I expected as my due. They were simply sad.

"What now?" I threw his hands away from me in frustration. "Why can't you be happy for me?" I pouted, aware of the appeal of my lush ruby lips.

But Edward didn't even react to my pose. "I'd hoped you'd be bored before you got this far. Or that your urge for revenge would pass," he admitted, pressing his lips into a thin line.

I let this sink in and found, to my surprise, that I was more bothered by the way he ignored my beauty than anything else.

I thought to myself,_ So, Edward Cullen, I'm not attractive to you? Or is this another game you are playing?_

He raised an eyebrow. "Rosalie, don't forget, I can read your thoughts."

_Damn._

So I tended to my bruised ego and ignored him. No matter what he said or hoped, I was getting my way with Royce and the others, and that was what really mattered.

Once I'd proven that I could control myself with the pigs, Edward couldn't curtail my nocturnal activities. I resumed – no, redoubled – my watching.

It was an easy thing – too easy – to learn the comings and goings of these drunken fools. And much of my uncertainty was gone. I knew what I could and _would_ do when the moment was right. I needed more challenge.

Still, it started out as an accident. I had gotten bold in my stalking, coming closer and closer to my prey to test my nerves.

The night air was turning cool again as fall approached. A carpet of dead leaves lay before me on the ground, but I floated noiselessly across them. I'd noticed how silent the night was as I came within yards of Royce as I trailed him through a back alley. The animals, and even the insects, seemed to snuff out their own sounds as I glided by them.

Royce noticed, too, though he was too drunk and stupid to know exactly what it was he was noticing. He clutched his thin coat about him and looked around nervously. I could hear his pulse quickening, could smell the hint of adrenaline in his blood.

Then, unwittingly, I stepped on a twig. A sharp crack echoed through the alley way.

Royce froze and his heart lurched. I heard its insistent pounding in my ears and smelled the full bloom of fear surge through his veins. The aroma overpowered me, drowning out the oily smell I normally associated with him. A rush of venom filled my mouth. Unbidden, a soft sigh of pleasure and desire escaped from my lips.

Royce's eyes bulged.

"Who's there?" he whispered, his words slurring.

I let his question hang in the oppressive silence. His face twisted with fear.

"Rosalie?"

I froze, shocked, when I heard him speak my name. Then, I broke out into a delighted giggle, the soft musical sound filling up the narrow alley, building and growing, worming its way into Royce's addled brain.

He began to whine like a beaten dog. "Oh, God. I didn't mean to."

I smelled something acidic – urine. He'd wet himself.

I couldn't contain myself. I dropped to the hard ground, howling with laughter as he ran off into the night. I didn't even try to stop him. I kept laughing until the giddiness of my discovery had worn off.

All this time, I had been lingering in Royce's conscience. He was afraid – afraid of being found out? Afraid of divine retribution? It didn't matter. He was afraid of _me_, Rosalie Hale, and I had barely even started.

I'd resisted the temptation of his blood. I was growing stronger. There was no question, now, of me proceeding.

Edward was lurking in the hallway when I returned home. His face was mass of fury.

"What were you thinking, Rosalie?" he demanded, refusing to move from the door. "You can't play cat and mouse with him. What if he sees you?"

"Move out of my way, Edward," I warned. "You knew this was coming."

I tried to push past him but his body was like a wall. I tried ducking under his arm, but he read my thoughts and blocked me, locking my arms in his strong grasp.

"Ugh! Why can't you just leave me alone?" I growled at him in fury, struggling against him. Even with my newborn vampire strength, I was no match for Edward's agility.

"Carlisle! Esme! Make Edward leave me alone!"

"Great. Very mature, Rose," Edward muttered, instantly dropping his hands. Carlisle and Esme appeared in the hallway mere seconds later.

"What's all this about?" Carlisle's eyes twinkled as he looked at us standing close together. For some reason, he seemed to find our squabbling amusing.

"Edward won't let me by," I began, jabbing a slender finger into his unyielding chest.

"She needs to explain herself!" he protested, cutting me off. "She's being reckless. It's putting our whole family at risk!"

"Your family, not mine!" The words flew out of my mouth before I could think. Edward and Carlisle froze. It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room.

Esme recoiled, looking like I'd slapped her in the face.

Disappointment filled Carlisle's eyes. "Oh, Rosalie," he said quietly, taking Esme's hand in his. "Haven't you realized yet that you are part of our family?"

I dropped my eyes to the ground. I hadn't meant to hurt Esme. But still.

I lifted my head proudly.

"I didn't choose you. I didn't choose to be like you. You can't make me a part of your family as easily as you turned me into a monster."

Esme's lip quivered. Edward let out a low growl.

"I don't need any of you," I whispered, backing out of the door.

"Don't go, Rosalie," Carlisle pleaded in his gentle voice, but it was too late. I was already running.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Thanks to prettypinkbookworm, as always, for the beta read.**

CHAPTER 6

I kicked the door and listened to the dull thud echo through the warehouse. A shower of dust and debris rained down on my hair.

I threw myself in a heap on the floor. This wasn't much of a hiding place, but I had panicked. I needed someplace quiet to think by myself. I had to get away from Edward. There was no way I could plan my next step with him constantly intruding in my thoughts, asking me annoying questions.

But now, in the silence of the empty building, I couldn't think at all. Every time I tried, Esme's hurt look floated to the top of my mind and kept getting in my way.

I shouldn't let it get to me, I argued with myself. What is she to me?

_She is the one who held your hand through the burning pain of your change,_ a voice whispered to me. _She is the one who held you when you woke up and realized what had happened, who didn't let go when you realized that no matter how hard the sobs wracked you, you would never, ever cry real tears again. _

_She is the one who brushed your golden hair and told you you were beautiful, no matter what those men had done to you._

A strange feeling swept through me. How could I go back there now, after what I'd said to Esme?

I looked around the warehouse. I wasn't in danger here – there weren't even signs of stray dogs or vagabonds. But it wasn't a place to stay; not for very long, anyway. The few windows were boarded over but the gaps between them let in the wind and, I supposed, would eventually let in rain and snow, too. It didn't matter to my health, nor to my comfort, really – but it was certainly beneath me.

"Rosalie?"

The voice startled me. I'd scrambled to my feet before its echo had even stopped reverberating through the empty building. There, emerging from the shadows, was a white figure. Esme. Her black eyes burned like coal in her perfect, pale face.

I frowned. The feeling that had overtaken me before came back, stronger. I recognized it this time. It was the same feeling I'd had that night, lying in the snow.

It was shame.

I didn't want Esme to know, so I spoke first. "How is it that you can always track me and I am always caught off guard?"

She looked puzzled, her eyes intent as she came closer.

"You, Carlisle, even Edward. You always manage to sneak up on me."

She smiled gently. "You were probably distracted by your thoughts. You seemed very preoccupied."

I tried to make myself angry, crossing my arms and raising my voice. "Have you been spying on me this whole time?"

Esme's expression didn't change a bit. "Not spying, Rosalie. I was worried about you. I wanted to see if you are all right."

"There's nothing to worry about," I grumbled, turning away from her.

"Rosalie," she said, her soft voice right behind me now. "You don't have to pretend."

"Why would I pretend?" My voice sounded falsely bright, even to my own ears.

She let out a soft sigh. I felt her hands on my hair, gently picking out the tangled leaves and dirt.

"You are so beautiful, Rosalie. You have so much to give. So much in front of you."

I felt my body sag a little bit under her touch and let myself lean back against her marble chest, just for a moment. I closed my eyes and remembered sitting on my mother's lap as a little girl as she put rag curls in my hair; her constant murmurs of approval, the love and comfort in her touch.

"But I'm worried about you. You're too obsessed with those men. You're spending every moment focused on them. It's not healthy."

I snorted and push away from her. I drink animal blood and will never sleep again and she's worried about my health?

Undeterred, Esme continued, her sweet voice insistent. "You have to let that life go, Rosalie. Seeking revenge isn't going to change what happened."

"What do you know about it?" I snarled, turning on her. "It didn't happen to you, did it?"

Esme looked at me calmly, one eyebrow raised. I realized with embarrassment that I was crouched in attack position.

"Oh, Esme," I cried, sinking to the floor.

She caught me in her arms and let me cry. I cried in frustration that I would never be a wife and mother. I cried in anger that the men who'd done this to me still were free. I cried in shame that I had so little control that I would turn on the one person who'd shown me real kindness. And I cried that I couldn't really cry. Esme held me, her soft murmurs and gentle rocking calming me until my dry sobs had drained my anger.

I buried my face against her shoulder. "Please don't make me stop. Please, Esme."

She sighed and kissed the top of my head. "Dear Rosalie. We can't make you do anything. I'm sure you've realized that by now. But Edward is right; it isn't safe to let anyone see you. Not just because of the townspeople, but also because of the Volturi."

I lifted my head and looked at her. "The what?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter right now. We can discuss it later. The most important thing is that I think we may have lingered a bit too long in Rochester. As long as we are here, you can't build a normal life."

"Normal?" My hollow laugh bounced off the high ceiling, mocking me.

She smiled indulgently. "As normal as we can have, Rosalie. Believe me, we can find quite satisfying lives, given the right circumstances. And for you – for all of us, now – that means living in a place where you aren't recognizable."

I sat up. "You would move, for me?"

"Of course. That is, if you'd like to stay with us." Her eyes searched mine for a sign.

"You won't stop my plan?"

She shook her head, her eyes sad. "As long as you don't let yourself be seen, we won't interfere. But that doesn't mean we won't try to change your mind."

I hesitated. I had never left Rochester. But then again, if I didn't leave now, I would never be able to emerge from the Cullen house during the day. I'd be trapped in some sort of nocturnal existence -- hiding whenever a visitor dropped in on Esme during the day; only emerging to the black of night.

Maybe Esme was right.

I looked up into her dark eyes. The depth of them startled me.

"When?" I dragged the word out of me. As I did, I felt another, small piece of my heart give way inside of me. It was a piece I didn't even know was there.

Esme smiled. "As soon as the weather cooperates," she said.

I closed my eyes and leaned against her again. She kissed my forehead, just like my mother used to do when she comforted me from a bad dream.

"Not until I've finished," I whispered, bracing for an argument.

Her hand hesitated as she tucked a stray curl behind my ear. "Let's go home," she whispered, squeezing my hand and leading me out of the dreary warehouse. "There's not much time before dawn."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who are reading, and for all the great reviews -- they really keep me motivated to write! Special thanks to prettypinkbookworm, as always, for the beta read. I found this chapter really hard to write, hope you like it...hopefully it addresses some of the questions a few of you had earlier in the story.**

CHAPTER 7

It had never occurred to me how difficult getting the weather to cooperate could be.

Carlisle and Edward usually left the house quite early – before dawn, in fact – just in case the sun chose to curse them with its brilliance. If clouds failed to materialize over Rochester, they would be safely wrapped in the shadows of Carlisle's office before any damage could be done. There they could stay until dusk's half-light allowed them to make their way home.

Traveling away from Rochester to find a new home was another issue altogether. The Packard afforded some privacy, especially since Carlisle had paid to have fancy curtains installed, but curtains couldn't shield the driver completely from the sun. An entire day could be lost if the weather wouldn't cooperate. And lately every day was like a cold crystal shot through with light – clear, brilliant, and entirely unsuitable for our travel.

"Useless superstition," Carlisle sighed, setting aside the well-worn _Old Farmer's_ Almanac he'd been consulting. "I don't know how anyone plans their planting and harvesting by this."

"If it is so inaccurate, why do you even bother reading it, Carlisle?" Edward asked.

Carlisle picked up another, similarly sized book and turned open a page at random. "Scientific method. See this?" He held up the book and pointed to rows of neat, tiny script in the margins of the manuscript. "I've been tracking the actual outcome of the weather against the predictions for almost as many years as they have been publishing this book. It gives me great pleasure to see my opinion borne out by the evidence." He carefully closed the book.

I sharpened my gaze and noted with a start that the date on the cover read 1802.

_What a waste of time_, I thought to myself.

Edward shot an annoyed look at me. It was the most notice he'd given me since the night I'd run to the warehouse. Since then he'd studiously ignored me. He hadn't even risen to the bait of the deliberate and increasingly malicious thoughts I'd been directing at him.

"Ever the scientist," Edward noted, smoothing over the look of irritation that had marred his god-like features before turning his attention back to Carlisle. "Now that we have established your correctness, Carlisle, I wonder if we can determine what we should do? We still haven't figured out how to get out of Rochester to find our new home."

"You're making it more difficult than it needs to be," Esme suggested as she swept by to light the lamp at Carlisle's side. I don't know why she bothered; he didn't really need its light. "Do what you did when we left Wisconsin."

I perked up. They'd never really discussed their pasts with me. "What did you do then?" I asked.

Esme shrugged, absentmindedly moving around the study tidying up after Carlisle's abandoned reading and experiments. "Chose a place known, based on word of mouth, for its cloudy weather. Hired an attorney to buy a house for us, sight unseen. Traveled by night and hid during the day. When we couldn't make enough progress without putting ourselves at risk, or when we needed to hunt, we'd camp outdoors. We could always hear anyone coming before they had time to see us."

"You slept outside?" I couldn't hide the disgust that crept into my voice. "How did you bathe?"

Edward rolled his eyes. "It's not like we get sweaty, Rosalie. Especially you – you're hardly performing hard labor these days."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I hissed. Edward's eyes – they were dark now – trailed down to where I gripped the armchair. _You're actually enjoying this, aren't you? _I thought.

His upper lip curved crookedly, a glint of malicious glee in his eyes. "It wouldn't hurt you to actually help Esme around here instead of worrying about your hair and sulking because you can't go outside."

I sucked in my breath. At least he was noticing me. "Just because I am trapped in this house doesn't mean I can ignore my appearance, Edward." I straightened in my chair and smoothed down the skirt of my new dress, carefully chosen from the Sear's annual catalog. I looked at him through my thick lashes, affecting what I hoped was an innocent, blank look. "It wouldn't be respectful of all the effort that Carlisle and Esme, and yes, even you, go to to appear respectable."

"Plus," I added smugly, crossing my arms, "there isn't much to do in a house this small, even if we don't have help."

Edward rolled his onyx eyes again. He missed the quiet look that passed between Esme and Carlisle.

Carlisle let his gaze rest on me, uncertainty passing over his perfect features. Then he looked at Edward, and this time Edward noticed. Carlisle glanced at Esme again. She nodded.

I stole a glance at Edward. His entire face was folded into a frown. He was concentrating hard but nothing in his expression could explain what Carlisle and Esme were thinking.

Carlisle gracefully set his book aside and floated across the room, settling in the chair next to mine. My eyes were drawn to his hands, which he held lightly in front of him. They were beautiful hands, with long, delicate fingers.

"Esme and I were thinking that you might consider leaving here for a while. I mean, without waiting for all of us to move. You seem so tense; so preoccupied with those…men. A change of scenery might be just what you need."

I looked up, surprised.

"You trust me to go off on my own?"

"No, that's not what we meant," Esme said hurriedly. "We wouldn't leave you all by yourself. At your age, it wouldn't be safe."

"I don't understand. Are you sending me away? Honestly, Carlisle…."

My voice trailed off as Esme rose. She stared at me intently as she walked behind Carlisle and rested her hand on his shoulder.

Her soft voice seemed to echo in the silence of the twilight. "We thought that maybe Edward could go with you." She looked plaintively across the room at Edward.

"Esme, Carlisle, no!" Edward's beautiful face was stony, but the vibrating emotion in his voice was unmistakable.

Esme's words spilled out, faster and faster, a quiet hum that drowned out Edward's protest. "It doesn't have to mean anything more than it is. Perhaps with some space, it will be. But it doesn't have to be. It's just to get you away from….here."

She turned to me then, her golden eyes glittering in the lamplight.

"Even just a short distance, into the country for a holiday. Rosalie, anything would be better for you than staying here." She looked down into Carlisle's adoring face and a small smile of satisfaction lit her features.

"You need a chance to feel other emotions besides fear and shame and hate."

I watched as Esme and Carlisle's fingers intertwined. The bond between them was so strong.

_But Edward and me? Could I have been wrong about him?_ A shudder of excitement and anticipation rose in the space that had once held my heart. It's true, since those days in the clearing, I hadn't thought he'd felt any attraction to me. But even then it hadn't made sense.

I couldn't honestly say that I was drawn to him myself, although even I had to admit he was almost too perfect to look at. And imagining him as an admirer – well, after all the admirers I'd had, that felt as comfortable as my old flannel robe.

Did Esme and Carlisle know something I didn't? Something I didn't even realize about myself?

I peeked up through my lashes, wondering how to show my modesty, my appreciation, when I could no longer charmingly blush.

The cold sadness of Edward's black stare pinned me back in my chair.

"I'm sorry Rosalie," he said, almost mechanically, his eyes never changing. "I cannot go away with you and I can never be anything but a brother to you. Deep down, you know I am right."

In one, swift movement, he was gone. Only a flutter of chilled air hinted that he had even been in the room.

I stared at my hands. Men had done horrible things to me. But many more men had adored me, had been so taken with me that they stuttered in my presence and contented themselves with glances and wishes. Most were happy enough for me to smile my approval and show them the favor of my attention. None had ever rejected me.

No one, in fact, had ever rejected me.

_How dare he presume? Didn't he know to whom he was speaking? _Anger burned in my eyes, but no tears came.

I lifted my head. The look of pity in Carlisle and Esme's eyes only made me angrier.

Esme began, "Rosalie, we didn't mean..."

"Of course I would never go away with him," I answered, cutting her off. "That was a ridiculous suggestion, Esme."

I swept up from my chair, wrapping a shawl around me.

"I couldn't let a simple country holiday, as you put it, interfere with my plans." My chin jutted a little higher as I pulled the shawl more tightly around me.

"Tonight seems like an excellent night to start."

I didn't let them see my bottom lip quiver as I headed out the door into the mercy of the waiting darkness.

**A/N: So what d'ya think??? We're getting to the fun part now, death and mayhem, woo hoo :) Let me know your thoughts and thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: So, I know I promised murder and mayhem...but I just felt we needed a little more of what was going on in Rosalie's head after Edward rejected her. So, a short, 'filler' chapter -- let me know if you like it. And I promise, the gory bit is coming quick on its heels:) Thanks to prettypinkbookworm for her great beta-reading...and thanks to all of you for the reviews and PMs, I really appreciate them!**

CHAPTER 8

My mind raced as I ran through the dark woods toward the edges of Rochester. _How could he not be attracted to me?_ After years of relying on my golden hair and perfect smile, I was able to coldly appraise my own, and others', beauty. Even as a child, I knew an adorable curtsey and flash of my blue eyes would win me the longest length of ribbon in the general store window; that a smile would be worth a piece of licorice. My ability to gauge my own looks against the competition, and the size of the prize, had only grown over the years. I knew, as certain as I knew the stone cold stillness of my own heart, that I had risen from my change more beautiful than ever. My lips were fuller and lush, as inviting as the petals of a rose. My eyes were a glittering gold that was captivating; the traces of red that shot through them their only flaw and that, soon, would disappear. My hair was thick and lustrous, as smooth as the finest silk. I was more beautiful than Esme and my everlasting youth would keep me that way forever. _How could he be so dismissive?_

I drew up short as the reason dawned on me.

_I was dirty. Damaged. How could he – or any man -- ever want something like me_?

I don't know how long I stood there, shaking in the snow, repeating the word over and over to myself. _Damaged. Damaged._ Finally, a distant keening filtered through to me. Its piercing sadness echoed in the night, the bare bones of the empty trees unable to muffle it. It was the loneliest sound I'd ever heard.

In my confusion it took me a moment to realize the cries were mine.

I ripped a howl of anger and frustration from deep in my chest, hurling my hate back against the injustice of it all. A flock of bats soared out of their shelter into the inky sky, startled by my roar.

Would no one love me ever again?

A small voice whispered to me, _you vain girl. No one ever did love you. They just loved the idea of you._

I whimpered, but I didn't argue. I knew it was true. The ease with which my parents had packed the memory of me away was there, plain as day.

I looked down. In my howling, I had trampled my shawl. It looked ragged and worn. I started to reach for it, but thought better of it. Instead I ground it underfoot, turning it into scraps under my heel.

So much for my dreams of green lawns, laughing children and an adoring husband. None of that would ever happen.

I flexed my hands and stretched my fingers, long and wide. These hands, once so delicate, would never cradle a sleeping infant or wipe away the tears brought by a skinned knee. They were now made for killing, and the killing would start tonight.

I hadn't planned to start tonight, but my anger and hurt demanded an answer. So, for the first time in a long time, I would improvise.

I needed to leave Royce for last. I wanted him to have to wait and wonder.

So I lifted my nose to the stiff wind and waited for a scent to reach me. Whoever crossed my path first would be the unlucky one to die.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Ta da! Murder and mayhem, as promised. Thanks to prettypinkbookworm again for beta reading. Hope you enjoy the drama:)**

CHAPTER 9

Rochester was smelly. I sifted through odors of sweat and mud; the discarded remains of overcooked pork roasts and baked beans; rotting potatoes; burnt coffee and watery turnips from the soup kitchens. I let over-ripe colognes and horse and automobile fumes wash over me. The scents of thousands of humans and even a bit of blood rushed by until out of the stream of human rankness I plucked out a scent I recognized, one I had been waiting for.

I began to run, winding through the edges of the town to avoid notice. The rich scent of one of my attackers pulled me along as the kaleidoscope of smells, sounds and sights rushed past. I stopped only once or twice when the wind shifted subtly, closing my eyes so I could focus on my prey's scent.

I thought I was going to lose the trail, but then, conveniently, the wind picked up again. He was heading toward Maplewood Park, by the heights overlooking the falls.

I smiled widely. Lonely at night, the park would be busy the next day. It would be perfect.

I flew over the snow. When I got to the park, I skirted around the lights of the safe picnic grounds, sticking to the shadows. I didn't have time to dwell on my memories of attending concerts and ice cream socials there with Royce, for I could already see my victim.

Smitty. Home for a visit. Out by himself. A sitting duck, wading through the drifts as he strayed from the main path, shivering in his coat, one hand shoved as deep as it could go into his pocket, the other wrapped around the cigar he bit between his teeth.

I stood still, a ghost, watching him from behind a tree.

He choked on the cigar's smoke, going into a coughing fit. When he'd stopped, he looked nervously over his shoulder, worried that someone had seen him.

Poor Smitty I thought wistfully. Trying so hard to play the grown-up. You didn't know you'd have to pay for your grown-up crimes, did you?

He headed toward the old carousel and sat down on the edge. By his casual demeanor, he didn't appear to be waiting for anyone. Nor did he seem to be in a hurry.

All the better for me, I thought as a fresh blast of wind carried a heavy current of his scent over to me. My nostrils flared and I swallowed back a mouthful of venom. Digging my nails into the thin, silvery bark of the tree, I told myself, _slow down, Rosalie. Take your time. You cannot taste his blood. You must keep the upper hand. You must stay in control._

A slight tremor of fear ran through me as I remembered being held down in the snow. His leering face, silhouetted against that starry night, flashed deep in my memory.

I dug my nails in harder, until the tree's trunk started to splinter. _See? You're stronger than him. It's his turn to be afraid._

Smitty looked around once again, then reached surreptitiously into his long coat and pulled out a flask.

_Someone should tell that boy that Prohibition is over, _I thought. _Unless he's such a mama's boy he isn't allowed to drink yet._

I watched him pull a few good swigs from the flask, then wipe his lips against his coat sleeve. I saw his eyes grow unfocused, saw the slight list to his body as he leaned into the red and green painted horse next to him, and knew it was time.

I snuck around to the far side of the carousel. Noiselessly, I leaped onto the platform and crept to the gears at the center. I'd never operated any machinery before, but the mechanism was intuitive to me. Turning it on, I had the same feeling as the first day I'd received a caller; knowing how to operate it was simply a matter of course. The calliope roared to life in a burst of music and lights as the slow gears started churning, starting the platform in a slow circle.

The sudden lurch of the machine sent Smitty banging against the wooden horse. As he fell, he spilled the flask. A piney smell mingled with his own scent. He scrambled to his feet, snatching up the flask and plugging it as he looked around nervously.

"What the…?" He grabbed onto a pole and peered toward the center of the carousel. "Is somebody there? Please come out. You gave me quite a scare."

I stood and waited.

His features shifted from confused to irritated. "I tell you, whoever you are, you will come to no harm if you show yourself now. But I will be forced to report you to the authorities if you do not step forward and take account for your actions."

I stepped from behind the center of the carousel and was behind him in an instant. He didn't even know I was there.

I leaned as close to his ear as I could and whispered in a honeyed voice, "Is that what you told those other boys the night you raped Rosalie Hale?"

He gasped and jumped away, clutching his arm as he rammed into another horse. "Who are you?" he shouted, red-faced as he turned back to face me, his free hand closed into a fist. "How dare you ac-"

His eyes widened in shock as he took in my face. His flask dropped to the wood floor.

"Hello, Smitty," I purred, letting a seductive smile blossom across my face. I watched his reaction carefully, my furrowed brow the only sign that I was as tense as him. I gripped the seat of the carousel pony in front of me. The adrenaline rushing through his system was calling to me.

"No, it isn't possible," he murmured, grabbing the pole behind him for support as the merry-go-round continued to twirl. "They said you disappeared."

"And I did," I said. "But now I'm back. And aren't you the lucky one, Smitty?" I floated toward him, leaving no more than a hand's span of space between us. "You're the first one I found." I breathed on him and watched as the sweet fog of my breath confused him.

"But you were supposed to be dead." He covered his mouth in horror as he realized what he had allowed to slip out.

I laughed out loud, the sweetness of my voice tinkling like icicles in the cold wind.

"Maybe I am dead, Smith. Did you ever think of that?" Before he knew what was happening, I was behind him. "Do living people move like me?" I wrapped an arm around and gripped his neck beneath his muffler in a light, but strong hold. "Are they as cold as me? Are they as beautiful as I am?"

He shrank from the icy chill of my touch and began to scream.

"Oh, Smitty. Don't spoil all the fun just yet," I pouted, now perched sidesaddle atop a gaily painted dromedary. "I may be already be dead, but tonight it's your turn." I disappeared to crash the carousel into stillness and darkness once again.

Disoriented, he looked around for me. Thinking he'd found an opportunity, he lunged to get off the platform. I was waiting at the step. He shrank back.

Sweetly, I shook my head at him. "There's no use running, Smitty. You can never get away. And I guarantee you; no one will hear you scream. I wouldn't waste your breath."

He dove, trying to push his way past me. I clamped one cold hand around his shoulder and squeezed. I heard the snap and saw a wave of agony pass over his face before he let loose another scream.

His scent was almost unbearable now. I was getting irritated.

"I told you not to scream!" I roared, slapping him across the face with the back of my hand. Another crunch told me I'd shattered his cheek bone.

"Oh God," he cried, tears streaming down his face as he slumped back against the step, cradling the crushed shoulder that had left his arm dangling uselessly. "Please, please, Rosalie. I'm sorry. We didn't mean to hurt you. Please let me go, I'll do anything."

"Can you bring me back my life, you pig?" The venom was unstoppable now, almost filling my mouth. I fought back the urge to spit and swallowed it down, trying to focus on my task. I blew all the air out of my lungs in a large sigh and stopped breathing. Abruptly, the pain of my thirst lessened.

He cowered on the step, and then closed his eyes. "This is just a dream. If I wake up, you will be gone." He kept muttering the wish to himself, like a prayer, in between tiny moans of pain.

"The next time you wake up, you will be in hell," I spat at him as I strode up the steps and began snapping the reins off of the animals.

I stepped back to admire my handiwork. It was picturesque, if I did say so myself. There were a few things I'd have liked to have redone, but I was aware that Smitty's screams, or the sudden burst of sound and light at the carousel, could, indeed, have drawn attention, so I didn't have time for some of the touches I would have liked.

Still, it would do.

I had stretched Smitty out between two carousel poles, tying his arms and legs taut with the reins I'd ripped off a pair of seafoam and coral-colored seahorses and an assortment of striped tigers, panthers, and lions.

I hadn't bothered myself with being gentle when I tied him and stretched for the poles. I didn't have to. A mere raised eyebrow from me and he'd swallowed his shrieks of pain as I jerked his broken bones taut with the reins.

I'd stripped him of his long woolen coat, suit jacket, tie, shirt, and undershirt. He shivered in the wind, his pale, overprotected flesh exposed to the elements that had once threatened to do me in. My eyes narrowed. He was starting to sag. There was a good chance he'd die of overexposure if I didn't act soon.

I walked close to him and let a puff of my sweet breath float softly into his face. He looked up at me, his eyes confused. I set his hat at a jaunty angle and stood back, satisfied.

"Smith, are you ready to die?"

He didn't answer me, just closed his eyes and let his body hang as low as the leather straps would let him.

I closed my own eyes and let myself breathe, thinking of the pigs in the clearing. I smelled their fear, the same fear I could smell on Smitty now. I remembered the bones and sinew and how it felt to slide them out of place and extinguish each pig's life.

"You're a pig, Smith," I whispered, using his scent to find my way to him without opening my eyes.

I gripped his neck and began to apply pressure, wrapping my other hand over his mouth so that he couldn't scream. He kicked and thrusted, trying to break free, but my hands were like steel traps. I let him tire himself out until I was ready; then, I tightened my grip. I waited for the sound of his collapsing windpipe before I snapped the bone. I didn't move until his thrashing had subsided.

I opened my eyes and let out a big sigh. Finally, the call of the blood had stopped. His blood was still, now, and held no allure.

I stepped away and looked at the scene. I frowned. It was gruesome, but it did not yet send a clear enough message.

Looking about me, I noticed the flask. I heard and smelled the slosh of vodka as I picked it up. Carefully, I began spilling out the vodka, bit by bit, making neat block letters on the wooden floor until the vodka was gone. I patted down Smitty's coat pockets until I found his lighter.

Soon, the word "rapist" burned in the floorboards in front of Smitty's outstretched body.

I thrust my fist through one of the calliope mirrors and extracted a jagged edge of glass. Next to the burning letters, I carved out, "Each one will pay."

I threw down the glass and stamped out the flames, lest the fire engulf the whole scene. There was nothing left to do.

Over the rush of wind, I heard voices from far away. I ran to woods, turning back at the edge to survey the scene once more. Nausea and unvanquished thirst overtook me and I vomited into the bushes.

I waited a few hours for the first people – vagrants who'd probably wasted their meager wages from the downtown Federal Works project on a bottle of cheap liquor -- to stumble upon the body. Only then did I leave.

As I ran over the snow toward the Cullen's house, I noticed the surge of exhilaration that had filled me up had disappeared. A gnawing, empty space had crept into its place while I'd waited in the woods. Disappointed flooded through me.

_It is no different than what you felt before,_ I reasoned with myself. _It will be gone once you've killed them all_.

Shaking off the feeling, I veered away and headed for Vera's house, hoping to get there before dawn's light broke.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thanks for your patience...it's been a busy week slogging back to work and getting through flu. So thrilled you all liked the first killing. Well, maybe 'like' is the wrong word ;) Will be pacing them out a bit. So, in this one, enjoy the aftermath, and let me know what you think! Thanks again to prettypinkbookworm for her beta read. BTW if you haven't read her most recent chapter of Alice, go take a look, its great.**

CHAPTER 10

"I thought I might find you here."

Edward.

I sighed heavily, not shifting from my position in the tree. I had a clear view of Vera's dining room window from here and I wanted to be sure to see the first stirrings of life in her little house. And, truth be told, I wasn't exactly sure how to interact with Edward after the incident at home.

"You've caused quite a stir, you know," he continued. "The whole precinct came out to inspect the crime scene."

I tried to ignore him, but he had captured my attention with that damn silken voice of his, telling me the very thing he knew I was dying to hear.

"Did they now?" I asked with an edge to my voice. I didn't want him to think I'd forgotten what had passed between us earlier. "What did they make of my little message?"

Edward paused slightly before answering me. "They burned the rest of the carousel platform on that side to obscure the words and expunged it from the record. They didn't want to distress the family."

My eyes widened in disbelief. "How dare they!" I turned to face Edward and the branch swayed a tiny bit, sending a soft shower of snow to the ground.

Edward shrugged, his dark eyes unreadable. "Protecting prominent families is part of their job, Rosalie. I imagined it worked much the same way when they were dealing with rumors about your disappearance."

I frowned. "You mean about Royce's involvement in my disappearance," I corrected.

He smiled. It was a tiny, rueful smile.

"If it makes you feel any better, the soup kitchens and shantytowns are all abuzz. One of the vagabonds apparently saw you from a distance and is telling everyone that there is an avenging angel about."

I clapped my hands with glee and practically bounced on the limb, sending more snow showers to the drifts below. "Oh, that's wonderful! I couldn't have thought of a better title for myself."

Edward looked reproachfully at me. "You should be more careful, Rosalie. You weren't very discreet."

I felt my anger rising at his criticism. "Discreet? You want me to be discreet? I want the whole city of Rochester to know what they did to me, Edward. I want _them_ to know that I am out there and that I am coming for them. I can hardly accomplish that by being the soul of discretion."

I couldn't disguise the disdain in my voice.

"Besides, the only reason you care about me being a good little vampire is so that your family's dirty secret isn't discovered." I turned away from him with a harrumph. "After all, you've made your personal feelings toward me very clear."

"Rosalie," Edward said softly, his sweet breath gently circling around my head. "I think you misunderstood my meaning."

"I'm quite sure I didn't," I mumbled, the feeling of rejection – and the knowledge that I was a ruined woman in his eyes – washing over me again.

"Oh, no," he groaned. He grabbed my arm and pulled me around to face him, managing to be as graceful as ever, even though we were perched high above the ground on branches.

"Please don't think that, Rosalie. No decent human being, or vampire for that matter--" he flashed his perfect teeth in a nervous smile -- "could ever think of you as fallen. You had no choice. They forced themselves upon you. And, what's more, they were people you trusted."

I was staring at my hands as I listened to his words. He reached over and cautiously took my hand in his. By sheer force of will, he seemed to force me to look into his eyes.

"I would never forgive myself, Rosalie, if you walked away from that conversation with the impression that I refused you because I blamed you for what happened to you. Or that you were somehow sullied by it.

"Those men were the evil ones, not you."

I stared at him gratefully, confused by my own emotions, unable to speak.

"Besides," he continued, his look of concern transforming into his silly, crooked grin, "I have plenty of other reasons to refuse you. Your incredible vanity, for one. Your incomprehensible stubbornness, for another."

"Me, stubborn?" I challenged, rising to his bait. "What about you? You're so stubborn you wasted nearly a whole year following me around at night, just to make sure I didn't get into trouble."

"True," he conceded, nodding slightly. "But I'm not the one climbing trees to watch the humans from my old life. I'm not the one following people around without their knowledge. I'm not the one refusing to let go."

I gripped my branch hold more tightly. I narrowed my eyes so I could catch any reaction from him when at last I spoke, bitterness tingeing my voice.

"Maybe you never had anything worth going back for in your old life."

He didn't flinch.

"I don't remember much of that life anymore, Rosalie. But you're right. My parents were dead before me. I had no sweetheart. There wasn't much left to keep a hold on my imagination, let alone my heart."

I stared at him, puzzled. How could someone go through life without any attachments at all?

"Well," I said slowly. "I just hope that I live to see the day when you are so taken with something – with someone – that you can't keep yourself away."

He laughed softly. "Don't hold your breath," he said.

_This feels…comfortable,_ I thought. The awkwardness between us had vanished very quickly. My mind drifted quickly to my younger brothers, but this was different. Perhaps it was because Edward, at least in vampire life, was older than me. Perhaps it was because we were equals.

"Yes, comfortable," murmured Edward. "Anyway, to ensure that there would be no hard feelings between us, I brought you a gift."

He reached out an elegant hand and dropped a folded piece of paper in my upturned palm.

I looked at him quizzically, and, to be honest, suspiciously.

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming," he noted dryly. "You'll thank me later. I had to resort to some rather…unconventional tactics to procure this for you."

Before I could question him further, he'd slipped down the tree and disappeared.

I unfolded the paper in my hand and smiled.

It was the name and address of the man from Georgia.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N Apologies for the technical problem...hope this works. You are all awesome for writing me such great messages and reviews last chap -- thank you so much! Special thanks to prettypinkbookworm for inspiring this chapter. Hope you like it:) **

CHAPTER 11

I'd lingered as long as I dared in that tree. Vera had risen before dawn and crept to the kitchen. She'd shaken the old grounds out of her coffee pot and put a fresh pot on the stove to start the day. It was ready by the time her husband woke, its bitter pungency offending my nose even from afar. She'd handed him a steaming mug, her fingers lingering on his strong hand, caressing it, before he broke the moment by taking the cup to his lips. Even then, his eyes never left hers.

I couldn't bear their familiarity, but I couldn't wrench myself away until I heard the sound of the milk truck rattling down the street.

When I got to the Cullen house, Esme was sitting in the parlor. In her lap was a neat pile of socks and woolen gloves she'd planned to darn.

Esme and Carlisle always felt guilty that they had to turn away the out-of-work beggars who turned up regularly at their doorstep, asking for food and shelter, so they'd taken to keeping practical gifts on hand; something to give away in compensation for the men's dashed hopes. Since Esme liked needlework, she often worked over cast-offs Carlisle was able to buy in second-hand stores downtown.

She'd made no progress tonight, though. Precious little had been transferred to her pile of completed work. I looked at her guiltily, knowing she'd been preoccupied, waiting for me.

"Edward tells me you had a successful evening," she began, cautiously.

I nodded, not sure what to say. The horrific scene I'd left behind me seemed far away, like a dream now. I was a little ashamed to admit what I'd done.

She continued, searching me with her wide, golden eyes. "He also told me you felt a little…confused after."

I looked at the floor. Could no one keep a secret in this house?

"Rosalie?" she prompted, waiting for a response.

"Yes, ma'am," I said between gritted teeth.

She looked at me with concern. "Would you like to discuss it with me? I'd be happy to listen," she added, setting aside her work and patting the space next to her on the settee.

I dragged myself over and sat down. I wasn't much in the mood to talk.

"So. You were confused." She waited expectantly, her eyes seeming to vibrate with intensity. She was wearing me down.

I nodded. "I thought I'd feel different after. It just wasn't what I expected."

"How?" she asked, her brow wrinkling.

I sighed, "Oh, Esme, you wouldn't understand."

She smiled wryly. "I might understand more than you think. You know, I wasn't always a vampire."

I rolled my eyes. "No!" I muttered sarcastically.

She ignored my outburst and continued, keeping my eyes squarely in her gaze. "My life as a human didn't end like Edward's did, in illness, nor like Carlisle's, with a violent attack by one of our kind. I tried to end my own life, Rosalie, and I would have succeeded if it hadn't been for Carlisle."

I clamped my mouth shut in surprise. I had not expected such a revelation from Esme. She seemed so perfect. So…untouched by the world around her.

If she noticed my surprise, she didn't show it, but continued on with her story.

"I was married, Rosalie. My husband hurt me. Innumerable times; too many ways to count. After our baby died, I couldn't take it any more. So I ended it the only way I could think of.

I can't read your mind like Edward, but I remember there was many a night back then when I would lie awake thinking that it was somehow my fault that this had happened. My fault that he would hit, and kick, and…worse. But it wasn't my fault. And I proved stronger than him, in the end, for I am still here, and he is gone."

She stopped speaking but kept her eyes locked on mine.

"I feel so…" I whispered.

She laid a hand on mine. "You're just as beautiful, inside and out, as before. What they did can't change that."

I closed my eyes, wishing for the solace of tears. I blinked the wish away.

"Did you ever go back? To get him back for what he'd done to you?"

"No," she answered, her gentle voice like balm to my hurting soul. "I think I was just so relieved to be rid of him, so delighted to find myself a new life, that I didn't feel compelled to seek revenge. My life with Carlisle and Edward has been so fulfilling, Rosalie, I didn't need to go back.

"I know it is different for you. You were happy in your old life, before all this happened. But the end result can be the same. You can still find love and companionship and all the things you wanted out of your human life, if you just give it time."

"Not all the things I wanted," I said dully. For a split second, she winced. If I hadn't had my vampire sight, I would have missed it.

"No, you will not bear children," she said sadly, squeezing my hand. "And neither will I. But maybe we can still have a family that we love."

I held onto her hand like a dog on a bone. I wanted, so desperately, to believe what she said. But how could love grow in a heart that had gone still?

"I thought I'd feel better after I'd killed him tonight," I confessed in a whisper. "But I didn't. I just felt sad."

"I thought you might. Revenge won't change what happened."

My logical mind jumped to its lawyerly response. "But he deserves to die for what he did to me! They all do!"

Esme smiled the rueful smile of experience. "Perhaps. But when you have finished with them, you will still be left with an eternity of yourself. You will still need to get over what they did to you."

Panic raced through me. "What if I can't, Esme?" I searched her eyes for reassurance and she squeezed my hand more tightly.

"You have to, Rosalie."

We sat there on the settee, watching the morning sun cast its brilliance over the snow outside, for a long time.

"What will you do?" she eventually asked.

"I don't think I can rest until I have seen it through. I can't just let them get away with it, Esme."

She held my hand a while longer, staring out the window. "Will you be going to Atlanta, then?"

I nodded. Edward must have told her everything. "I'm afraid to go, though. I've never been there. I've never been out of Rochester at all. And he's the one who…who started it all. He egged Royce on. I'm not sure if I can control myself."

"You must and you will," she said, her eyes flashing as she turned to face me, her voice taking on a stern edge. "Atlanta is quite far, Rosalie, and the coven there does things a little bit differently than we do up North. You'll have to be careful. And you must be certain that you can control yourself if you choose to go there. If things don't go as planned, there will be little we can do to protect you."

I gulped, wondering what exactly it was that made the South so different from the North. Esme composed her face into a mask of calm and rose from the sofa, patting my head tenderly and with regret.

"Carlisle will be able to help you plan your journey. You're a strong woman, Rosalie. If anyone can do this, it is you. I just wish you didn't have to."

I felt my throat constricting with alarm. "You're coming with me, aren't you?"

She shook her head sadly.

"But one of you will?" I insisted, clutching at her arm.

"We can't, Rosalie. If we all go, the coven will think we are attacking them and we may never make it out of the city. Even a pair of us would make them nervous. No, if you must kill this man, you must do it alone." She pried my fingers from her and looked coolly into my eyes.

With a slight squeeze of my hand, she turned and disappeared upstairs, leaving me alone to wonder if I was doing the right thing after all.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N Greetings all from Costa Rica:) Thanks to prettypinkbookworm for the beta read**

CHAPTER 12

In the end we'd decided I should ride the rails to Atlanta. It was the best way we could think of traveling undetected, especially since I didn't know how to drive and neither Edward nor Carlisle were willing to take me themselves.

I think they secretly thought I'd back down if they made it difficult for me. From several comments he'd made, I was certain Edward thought I'd be uncomfortable traveling with strange men in the dark boxcars. But I knew my own strength now, and I knew I could take care of myself if I had to.

I was more afraid of the Atlanta coven.

"They mustn't detect your presence, Rosalie. They are very territorial and are likely to hunt you down if they suspect an intruder," Carlisle had warned me again and again.

"What are the cardinal rules?" he demanded of me for the millionth time.

"Follow their ways -- only come out at night. Stay downwind so they don't catch my scent. Do my business, in and out, and then disappear." I recited the rules like a good schoolgirl.

"And if they start to track you?" he urged.

"Stay near humans, as publicly as possible, so the coven can't make a scene."

He still looked unhappy, but there was nothing more he could do. I was as prepared as I could be. Edward had given me the name and address I'd needed; he'd also gone to the public library and hand copied the most recent map of the city he could find. I'd even had to sit through his "history of Atlanta" lecture: Coca-Cola, Sherman's March, the Pittsburgh riot, on and on he went. _Remind me never to go on a holiday with you,_ I groaned in my mind, causing him to storm away in a huff, muttering at vampire speed about my lack of appreciation for cultural and current events.

When the time came, Edward took me to the place where the tracks switched, just outside town, to catch the midnight freight train as it went by. I had a small valise with a change of clothing, my hairbrush, and makeup. I kept my wallet in my pocket.

We heard the lonely whistle of the train before we saw its lights.

"Good luck, Rosalie," Edward said, his golden eyes worried as he extended his hand.

"Thank you Edward," I grinned, gripping his hand in mine.

He looked down the tracks and released my hand. "It will be here in a moment. It appears the door on the second to last car is slightly ajar. You might try that one. And remember…"

He was starting to yell above the rumble of the train. The tracks groaned and heaved, the metal protesting the weight of the train as it came nearer and nearer.

"I know," I called out as I began to run alongside the screaming train, "stop to hunt along the way."

I effortlessly jumped onto the car he'd mentioned and hung off the door. His eyes looked tight, anxious, as I sped away. He raised a hand, and I waved in response, hanging there until I could no longer see his pale figure in the moonlight.

I was lucky. The car was empty. There was no cargo and only one human heaped in a corner. He stunk of unwashed linen and reeked of liquor, but he was unconscious. _Ah, the company you keep,_ _Rosalie Hale,_ I thought. _If the University Club could see you now_….

And so the train sped along, bringing me closer to John Candler III, who would be my second victim.

I pressed my back against the wall of the car. The rumbling of the wheels on the track was hypnotic, but I couldn't relax. I fingered the slip of paper in my pocket like a talisman and focused on the crumpled man, willing him to stay asleep.

The passenger train schedule said the trip to Atlanta would take less than a day. The cargo train wouldn't make stops along the way so, for me, the journey could take as little as 12 hours. High noon was not a good time to disembark in the middle of Atlanta, so I'd be jumping off somewhere outside the city, wherever I could find good forest cover.

The man stirred. I heard his heart rate raise slightly, his breathing shift into a shallower range. He was waking up.

I pressed harder against the car. I wasn't afraid of him, but it would be easier if he didn't notice me.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes and belching. _Disgusting_, I thought. There were some parts of human life that nobody, including me, could ever miss. His eyes were still adjusting to the shadows, but mine were sharp. I scanned him quickly as he stretched, trying to take his measure.

He was dressed in a suit. It was shabby and stained, but the fine cut was unmistakable. The shiny buttons were the same as those on Royce's suits. _Custom tailored, _I thought with surprise. His shoes were scuffed and worn at the heel, but they were fine leather. I let this sink in, trying to reconcile the man's ragged hems and stink with his expensive clothing.

He finished stretching and looked around. As he looked in my direction, he started.

"Stay there," I commanded, wondering if he was the type to listen to a woman.

His eyes narrowed, then widened with surprise, an intelligent light suddenly sparkling in them. "Phoebe Snow," he murmured, a slight grin spreading across his face.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, the steely edge of my voice warning him not to move. "You seem to have mistaken me for someone else."

He chuckled, holding up his hands in a show of submission. "As I gathered, not the typical vagabond. You've never heard of Phoebe Snow?" Without waiting for my answer, he jumped to his feet and launched into a merry song and jig:

"Says Phoebe Snow

About to go

Upon a trip to Buffalo:

'My gown stays white

From morn till night

Upon the road of Anthracite.'"

He laughed out loud, slapping his knees, tears of delight running down his gaunt cheeks. I noticed the suit hung loosely on him, the pants cinched about his waist with a length of string.

"By God," he wheezed once his laughing had subsided, "If you're not Phoebe Snow in the flesh, then the Devil take me."

I frowned. "I'm _not_ Phoebe Snow. I'm Rosalie…" I paused. What name should I give? I doubted this man would have heard of me, but I couldn't be too careful. "Cullen." I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, remaining alert to any other sudden moves he might make.

"Well, Rosalie Cullen, I am Thomas Dearborn." He bowed neatly in my direction. "And you are on the Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Railroad line, otherwise known as 'The Route of the Phoebe Snow.' This route was the first to use anthracite coal, which burns soot free. Phoebe Snow was an illustrated character – a very beautiful woman all dressed in white including white dress, long white gloves, white hat, and white purse. The railroad adopted her for an advertising campaign to illustrate ladies could ride the "Phoebe Snow" without getting their clothes dirty. And you, my dear, if I may say so, are as pristine and pure as they come. More fetching than Phoebe herself."

_Thank God it is dark and he can't see me sparkle_, I thought. The man's glee was almost too much. That would have put him over the edge. As I watched, a shadow of sadness passed over his face and he became thoughtful.

"Of course, that was a long time ago. As you can see, this isn't even a passenger train anymore. And Phoebe has long left the public imagination." He bent over and coughed, each bark of his weary lungs wracking his body. His exuberance had cost him dearly. But even though his body was worn out, he spoke with the energy and authority of a worldly man. Curiosity overtook me.

"You seem to know a lot about this railroad."

He eased back down onto the floor of the car and fumbled about his body, looking for something. "Yes. I was an investment banker. I specialized in railroads. I know every line in and out of Atlanta like I knew every hair on my lovely wife's head." He found his bottle of whisky and took a swig. He drew a dirty linen handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth. I noticed the lines around his eyes; they made him look kindly.

"Knew?" I asked.

"Knew." He sat in silence, eyeing me. "When I lost all my money, she left me to go back to her family in New York." He said it in a matter-of-fact tone, no hint of bitterness in his voice.

I took this in as I sank to the floor. He was clearly no threat to me. In fact, he could be helpful with his knowledge of the rail lines. And he was intriguing – he had clearly been successful; not a lackabout, as my father had depicted the multitudes affected by the Crash to be. Even odder, he seemed to harbor no desire for revenge on his wife, despite her desertion.

"How did you lose your money?" I asked.

"The same way everyone else did," he said with a shrug. "In the bank. It doesn't really matter now. All that matters now is that it is gone." He took another drink and continued.

"The same brain that earned that money to begin with can earn it back again, once my luck changes. Nothing is ever permanent," he said with a grin.

I felt my brow crumpling. "That's not what your wife thought," I asserted.

"No," he said with a chuckle. "You're right. She had never had to earn anything in her life. She came from money. She was afraid. But I'm not afraid. Not anymore."

He looked at me again, his eyes softening. "It strikes me that you and I may have some things in common. A bit down on your luck, are you?"

I nodded, careful not to give anything away.

"This isn't a good place for a civilized young woman to be. Not alone, anyway. You're lucky you got in this car. Other travelers on the Phoebe Snow aren't always as refined as me," he grimaced.

"I'm not afraid." My voice was louder than I had intended it to be.

"Well, good for you, Miss Rosalie Cullen," he said, arching a brow. "Maybe you should be, but so be it. You are going to Atlanta?"

I nodded again. "But I'd like to get off the train outside of the city."

He looked at me curiously. "Traveling incognito?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I am planning to visit distant relations," I said smoothly, in my most melodious voice, "But I don't want them to be aware of how…troubled things are at home."

He rubbed his beard as if he was familiar with this ploy. "The train slows near Buford. It's very remote and wooded, but the station master there is a good man. He will be sure you find a respectable home in which to wash and a ride into the city."

He looked at me, curiosity burning in his eyes. "Just who are you visiting, Miss Cullen?"

I was afraid to say his name, afraid that I'd be unable to hide the rage and pain in my voice. I reached inside my pocket and extracted the flimsy piece of paper that seemed to control my fate. Being careful to move at human speed, I shuffled across the moving train and handed it down to him.

He let out a low whistle.

"What?" I asked breathlessly.

"You don't know, do you?" he said, full of surprise. He reverently folded the paper and handed it back to me, then settled back into his seat. "They are only one of the richest families in the South. One of the lucky ones that didn't get wiped out. Tuxedo Park is quite a change of scenery from this boxcar. How long has it been since your families have seen one another?"

"A long time," I muttered, shoving the paper back in my pocket. "Our connection is quite distant."

He looked me over, shrewdly assessing my clothing and looks. "You may have a shot. John Jr. is prone to generosity and Trey…"

"Trey?" The reference puzzled me.

"That's what they call John the Third."

"What about him?" Did this man actually know the savage?

"Well," he said, sighing greatly. "He's always been partial to the ladies, particularly the pretty ones. You'll be playing with fire, but if he's taken with you, it may work to your advantage."

He looked up at me, a fierce blush spreading across what was visible of his face, as he fingered the frayed hem of his suit coat. It was the first time he'd shown any self-consciousness, and the first time that the scent of his blood had broken through the stink. It had a mellow tone to it, like smoke.

He dragged his eyes away, staring at his worn wingtips. "You certainly are the most beautiful thing that's crossed my path in a long time. I'll bet the same will be true for him. Just be careful."

Another spasm of coughing shook his body. He fought it off, screwing his eyes tight against the pain. When it had passed, he leaned back against the wall and let a satisfied smile cross his face. Without opening his eyes, he spoke once more.

"Yes, you go and convince those Candlers to help you, Miss Cullen. Go strike a blow for the fallen common man." He wheezed slightly before continuing. "The train won't slow until Buford, so when it does you'll know it's your time. I'm going to go back to sleep now. I may not wake before your jump. May you be blessed with good luck. I hope our paths will cross again, in better days."

"Thank you," I whispered, wishing there was something I could do to repay him for his kindness. I reached into my wallet and found a coin. Noiselessly, I floated over to him and placed it in his hand.

He didn't stir. He had already slumped into unconsciousness, leaving me to focus on getting to Buford without biting him.

**A/N: A lot of train lines ran to Atlanta but I don't really know if the "Phoebe Snow" did, or if the timing for the 'soot free' train really works historically speaking. The reference was too perfect not to use, though. My thanks to M.C. Hallberg, author of "Railroads in North America: Some Historical Facts and an Introduction to an Electronic Database of North American Railroads and Their Evolution." This 2006 paper provided the reference, including the song performed by Mr. Dearborn.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N I am soooo sorry it has taken me so long. Between my travel schedule and the difficulty I had writing this stretch, it just seemed to take a bit of extra effort. I appreciate all of you who kept up your own writing, which was such an inspiration to me as I slogged through this. So now, as a treat for the delay, 3 chapters at once! woo hoo:) Hope you enjoy, and thanks again to prettypinkbookworm for the beta reading.**

CHAPTER 13

I threw myself from the slowing train as soon as I saw forest cover and managed to hit the ground running. Without breaking my stride I ran toward the vast, lonely woods that surrounded Buford. The trees were thick; lush pines mixed with the bony winter skeletons of trees I didn't recognize. I stopped short of their cover. I'd only had a few stolen moments of daylight in over a year…quick walks to the outbuildings to fetch things for Esme when we knew no one was near. I drew off a glove and held my hand to the noonday sun, turning it over and over to cast its sparkles against the brush.

The smells of the forest and the animals were different here…muskier, heavier. It was as if the lethargy of the sultry summers still lingered over the hard ground. My senses were alert to the change and already, I could feel the lure of the hunt. I entered the woods and lifted my nose to the brisk wind, hoping an unknown scent might catch my fancy.

I had no intention of interacting with the station master or any other human on my way to Atlanta. I would eat and wait for darkness so I could make my way to the city alone.

Buford turned out to be not much of a town. It was more of whistle stop along one, narrow, main street of dirt. By dark, the storefronts had been shuttered against the biting wind and lamplight glowed from the tiny apartments at the top of the buildings. Scattered out some way from the single street were a hodgepodge collection of farms, some working, some simply excuses for the kilns and scrap yards they housed. This was a working town, a country town. In my New York clothes, I would stand out here like a sore thumb. Better to avoid any contact.

That still left the question of how to get to Atlanta. I could have stolen a horse, but I didn't imagine I'd be inconspicuous on horseback in the middle of the city. Running was out of the question – I might need to mingle with a crowd, in which case I couldn't appear disheveled. I couldn't ask a ride from someone – who knew when anyone would come along this Godforsaken place. Besides, it was impractical to let anyone see me. No, my only option, really, was to drive. When I'd crouched in the trees behind the station, I'd heard several cars slow and stop along the central road. They weren't parked there now. I just needed to find one of them. I'd figure out how to actually drive the thing after that.

I dashed across the lonely rail and empty street, ducking into the alley behind the shops. The noises of dinner and bedtime clattered down, making me wistful. I gripped my valise, trying not to think of my own family.

I was in luck – one of the shopkeepers had parked his dusty Chevrolet in the back. I peered inside. No keys. I looked up at the window. I might be quiet, but a stuttering engine wouldn't be. I rolled off my gloves and put them in my pocket; no sense in dirtying them. I placed my hands on the trunk of the thing and began to push. It was like pushing a pram. I managed to sneak it out from under the nose of the shopkeeper in a few minutes.

Once out of hearing range, I fiddled under the hood. The mass of wires and tubes and oily metal was strangely beautiful. It had its own logic and order, something I'd never appreciated when I listened to Edward and Carlisle fuss over the Packard. It was an easy thing to bring the engine to life, and I was pleased with myself for doing it. It was, perhaps, the first practical thing I'd ever done on my own. Now I just had to navigate to Atlanta.

Luckily, I was a fast learner and had vampire reflexes. I managed to negotiate my way into the city with only minor mishaps.

The buildings of Atlanta were tall, taller than any I'd seen in Rochester, granite canyons glowing softly in the streetlights against the dark winter night. One gutted out hull of a building, the remnants of a fire, dominated a whole block. A flashing neon sign twinkled out "Coca-Cola" every five seconds. Red velvet swags and bows hung from every lamppost, their richness seeming to mock the bedraggled humans on the street.

Christmas. I'd forgotten. It seemed especially odd to think about Christmas here, with no snow.

Downtown was nearly empty, its office buildings having spat out its workers long ago. The few humans seemed to be heading North. I followed them down the long street, noting with satisfaction that I was on Peachtree. Hadn't Edward told me this was the heart of Atlanta? I'd actually found my way.

A strange light seemed to penetrate the darkness. And even over the hum of the motor and the buzz of traffic, I could hear a crowd, milling about with a buzz of anticipation.

Fox Theatre, the sign read in neon, radiating like a beacon. I'd never seen so many lights; the marquis was like a birthday cake, lit by a thousand candles, just waiting for someone to make their special wish. Under the bright lights, the movers and shakers of Atlanta -- those who could still dress to impress -- milled about, throwing their prosperity back in fate's teeth, daring the Depression to touch them. I sighed with appreciation to see the furs, the silks, the polished leathers. This was familiar, and I had no need to hide here. Nobody knew me; no one would ever suspect what I was, as long as I was careful. I got out of the car, dismissing the warnings Carlisle had drilled into me. After all, wouldn't this be a good place to track down my Georgian?

The scent of the people was heady and rich with layers of sweet blood; the Southern musk I'd picked up in the forest; and the elaborate florals and fruits, leathers and smokes, of the ladies' and gentlemen's colognes. I sucked it in greedily, thankful I'd hunted that afternoon.

The scents came at me, punctuated by the gay laughter and snatches of gossip that reminded me what society was like. It sucked me in, seducing me with swishing long skirts, the tapping of delicate heels, and the throaty laughter of wealthy men. I hung back in the shadows, but the memory of belonging lured me in, pulling me as if I was on an invisible string.

"What are you doing?"

I froze. Slowly, I looked about me, startled by the hissing voice. It was familiar, but I couldn't place it.

"Over here. Don't run. We will follow you if you do."

It dawned on me why the voice sounded familiar; it had the same musical quality of my own. I reluctantly let my eyes drift over to the back alley from which the hissing seemed to come. There, huddled in the dark, was a pair of tall figures. Their eyes glowed red.

"Don't run, my child. Come, join us. We won't hurt you." The second voice was smoother, somehow older. It had a distinct edge of threat to it. I looked around. No one in the crowd had heard the voice, and no one had seemed to notice me. I knew from Carlisle's warnings that I really had no choice but to obey the voice.

At least I'd be close enough to the theater-goers that they would hear me if I screamed.

I drifted noiselessly over to the Atlanta Coven, hoping I hadn't made a grave miscalculation.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N Welcome to some Original Characters! Read and enjoy**

CHAPTER 14

"Who are you? Why are you in our territory?"

The voice was unruffled, and the vampire's face smooth, but the two pairs of glaring red eyes put me on notice. I needed to tread carefully.

I looked from one vampire to the other. They were both elegantly tall and thin. I was surprised to find that under their hooded cloaks they were both men; for some reason, I'd expected a couple, like Esme and Carlisle. One of them looked almost old; his skin looked dry and thin and seemed almost painfully stretched across his high cheekbones.

"I mean no harm or disrespect. My name is Rosalie. I am here seeking a human."

"To hunt?" The older vampire spoke indignantly, his red eyes flashing.

"No," I answered swiftly. "To kill, but not to eat. For revenge."

This drew their attention. "What drives you to seek revenge?" asked the younger vampire, his face rapt with fascination.

I didn't want to talk about my past. "He hurt me when I was a human. He must pay the price."

They shot each other a quick glance. Then the slighter vampire turned a skeptical eye to me. "But not to eat? That seems…wasteful." His voice was old and tired, as if he'd seen it all, but a spark of curiosity cut through his weariness.

"I'm not hungry," I asserted, staring hard at him. "And I don't drink human blood."

They gawked.

"Her eyes, Emil. Look at them," the younger vampire said, his eyes almost childlike with their wonder.

The one called Emil nodded. "I have heard of vampires like you, but I didn't think it was true," he said, turning up a lip in disgust. "Where are you from?" he demanded.

"Up North," I said curtly. I needed to guide the conversation in my favor. The less they knew about me, the better. "I assure you, I have no intention of staying here, or of encroaching upon your hunting grounds. As soon as I can find this human and kill him, I will leave."

I smiled sweetly, wondering if my charms would work on one of my fellow undead. "Perhaps you can help me find him."

"Oh, yes, Emil, let's see if we can help her!" The young vampire enthused, pulling on Emil's sleeve. "It could be like a game. Please, Emil?" He pleaded, a puppy-dog pout softening his hard jaw line. "We haven't had any fun since the army…"

"Silence, Randall!" Emil hissed, his red eyes flashing. Randall bit his lip. Emil closed his eyes and breathed deeply, regaining his composure.

He opened his eyes and fixed them upon me.

"Why should we help you?" He asked stonily.

I shrugged non-committally. "The sooner I find him, the sooner I am gone."

He rolled this over in his mind. Randall hung back, safely behind him, keeping his thoughts to himself.

"Where is this human you seek?" Emil demanded.

"Tuxedo Park," I answered, wondering why it mattered.

Emil's pale lips spread into a grin and he began to laugh, a reedy, thin sound.

"Tuxedo Park. How convenient," he murmured.

"What is it about Tuxedo Park that you find so amusing?" I asked. Even Randall looked confused.

Emil pressed his fingers together under his chin and shifted slightly. As he did, the streetlight cast a bluish glow over his face, making him look more ghastly than elegant.

"You intend to kill this human?" Emil asked.

I nodded quickly.

"A young man?" he continued, his eyes piercing mine. I gave one curt nod.

"Ah, yes, this would do nicely," he muttered, beginning to pace excitedly.

"What will do nicely?" Randall whined.

A flash of irritation flitted across Emil's face, but he smoothed it over and smiled sweetly at Randall before he answered.

"Twenty years ago, Tuxedo Park was an isolated area and a perfect hunting ground for us: a steady stream of migrants and farmers, seeking shortcuts toward the ferries, easy to pick off. Those annoying humans ruined it with their summer homes and now, their gaudy mansions," he sniffed. "It was never more than an inconvenience, really, but the chance to punish one of their kind for the intrusion, to seek vengeance on one of their favored sons, well…"

He turned to me and bowed slightly, his lips twisted in bitter amusement.

"Who am I to stand in the way of a damsel in distress?"

Before I realized what was happening, Emil had clamped his claw-like hand around my arm.

"We will escort you to Tuxedo Park, of course. Anything less would be inhospitable." He forced his papery lips into another fake smile. "And we will wait for you there, to make sure you are successful in your endeavors."

I opened my mouth to protest but he silenced me with a stare.

"I will allow you this…opportunity you seek. But you are a fool if you think I will leave you alone in our territory. You are obviously young and inexperienced. If you find yourself unable to control yourself, or botch your task, then we must be there to clean up after you and make sure our presence remains unknown."

I looked over my shoulder, back toward the theater. No one was even aware of our presence in the alley. If I tried to draw attention, I knew that Emil would be able to decapitate me before I'd even finished opening my mouth to scream. I was at his mercy now, and he knew it.

I turned back to find his face pressed close to mine.

"The choice is yours, young Rosalie, but makes it quickly. My patience is growing thin."

His breath was overly-sweet, like rotten fruit.

"Very well," I responded through gritted teeth.

Randall began to jump up and down like a child, clapping his hands and giggling. For him, what was about to happen in Tuxedo Park was an amusement. For me, it was my life.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

We stood behind the pines and magnolias that surrounded the Candler mansion. The house dwarfed the Cullen's and even the King's homes in Rochester. It was the biggest house I'd ever seen; the biggest in a row of massive monuments to old plantation wealth and the new money of commerce that had raised Atlanta from the ashes of the Civil War. Every window in every house gleamed with electric lights. Delicate ironwork scrolls fenced each yard, protecting its inhabitants from the outside world. For these people, the Depression did not exist. I thought of Mr. Dearborn, with his worn leather and broken buttons, and my silent heart felt a twinge.

Music and tinkling glass spilled out from the house. Long, elegant cars had been pulling up all night; valets had whisked the beautiful couples out of the cars and up the steps to the grand hall. The Candlers were holding a Christmas party.

I frowned. It would be harder to find Trey alone, but it would be easier to go unnoticed through a crowd; I could probably slip in the servants' entrance and make my way unobserved to the upstairs rooms. There, I could bide my time until he retired for the evening.

"You're sure you aren't hungry? I can't afford to attract the attention of the wealthy in this city," Emil hissed. He still had not loosened his grip on me.

"I'm fine," I snapped. "Believe me, his blood is the last thing I'd like to drink."

Randall giggled loudly at my statement until Emil silenced him with a stare.

"Don't be so crass, Randall. I swear I have no idea how you have lasted as long as you have." Emil turned to me, exasperation filling his eyes. "He has no common sense, you know. I worry about him so much. He's really just a child."

His confession caught me off guard and I smiled.

Emil looked embarrassed and let go of my arm. "You'll want to get going. We'll wait for you here," he said sternly. "Don't try to leave without us. We'll track you if you do."

I nodded. "It might take me a while, but I'll come back."

The servants' door was unlocked, as I'd imagined. The kitchen was bustling; it was easy enough to race past the waiters and maids and climb the back stairs. I paused at the landing, taking in the polished pecan paneling, and lifted my nose to the air. A thousand scents swirled about me – peppermint and pine, tobacco and bourbon, bleach and wax and hairspray and shoe polish. But there, weaving in and out of it all, was the unmistakable scent of the man who'd leered and pushed and brought about my shame. His scent reached out and choked me, doubling me over with pain and revulsion.

Through the fog of hate that gripped me, I heard someone coming. I willed myself to focus and flew down the long hallway, Trey's scent growing stronger with every stride. The footsteps were coming closer, but I'd already found my mark. I stood and faced a lone door, the overpowering stench of Trey unmistakable behind it.

I stopped breathing and slipped inside.

I had never been inside a man's room before. I took my time, scanning the shaving brush and soap he'd carelessly left on his vanity, the rumpled suit coat flung over the back of a chair, the papers protruding from his briefcase, which he'd left on his writing desk. Newspapers and books were strewn about. The armoire doors hung open, showing a chaotic row of starched shirts, suits and ties. Empty bottles and tumblers littered the room.

He was a drinker, just like Royce.

A large four-poster bed stood proudly in the center of the room. It was tautly made, almost starched, and looked out of place amidst the clutter. I ran a hand along its expanse. This was the one thing amidst this chaos that the maid dared touch, I bet. The one way she could prove she'd done her job but still avoid lingering too long. I imagined how small she would feel, trying to escape from Trey's room before he could catch her alone, and my anger flared again. I gripped the mahogany spindle of the bed and felt it splinter in my fist.

No matter, I thought, tossing away a handful of sawdust. This bed would see worse before I was done tonight.

I settled in to wait, knowing that eventually my attacker would stumble in for the night. I would be ready.

It was 1:00. The guests had lurched away, sated from their last champagne toasts. The sounds of the servants clearing and washing had ended. One by one, I heard the Candlers mount the stairs to their quarters, only soft drawls of goodnight breaking the silence.

At last I heard his heavy footfall and the creak of the floorboard outside his door. I hid in a corner and prepared myself to face him, forcing myself to look at him, all the while holding my breath.

He didn't look the same as I remembered him. The power that he'd seemed to exude on that snowy night long ago seemed dissipated by drink and God knows what else. His jaw was soft, beginning to get jowly, his eyes distant. His walk was unsteady as he stepped over the threshold. He still held a tumbler, its contents more ice than whisky. He brought the glass to his lips, the cut crystal catching the low light from the bedside lamp, and sucked the ice, trying to drain the last drop of liquor.

Stumbling, he dropped the glass on the thick rug and threw his body on the bed. He rubbed his eyes, groaning. I didn't want him to pass out before I'd had my chance, so I stepped from the shadows and waited for him to notice me.

He sat up and struggled out of his jacket. It was when he started roughly unbuttoning his shirt that he finally looked up and saw me standing before him.

He froze, the look on his face one of dumb amazement and incomprehension. Then a lewd grin stole across his fat face. Even though he could barely keep his eyes open, he looked me up and down, letting his gaze linger on my breasts and waist.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" His drawl was thick and slurred from the liquor.

I didn't answer; I didn't move. He resumed unbuttoning his shirt, but now excitement and self-satisfaction shone in his eyes, chasing away the look of dull stupidity.

"You weren't at the party, now, were you sugar?" He was moving faster now, his excitement waking him up. "Maybe a serving girl then? A bit fancy for a serving girl, though…." He slid off his suspenders and pulled out his shirttails; his skin was pasty under his undershirt. He kept watching me from heavy-lidded eyes as he slipped out of his rumpled shirt, the nasty sneer never leaving his face. "That hair of yours, and those lips; I've never seen lips as luscious as yours.

"No, I guess I don't really care who you are. There can only be one thing you want, paying me a night time visit like this, and I'm happy to oblige you. No money, though. I'm not in the habit of paying for young ladies' favors." He paused as he reached for the button at his waist, taking me in again with a puzzled frown.

"You sure do look familiar, though. You weren't down at…"

My hand was around his throat, cutting him off mid-sentence, in an instant.

"You don't recognize me, Mr. Candler?" I growled softly. "Don't you remember your cousin's fiancée? The one you left for dead in the snow in Rochester? Or have you raped so many women that you find us hard to keep track of?"

His eyelids jerked wide. I'd jolted him to attention.

"What?" he croaked, trying to scramble back across the bed. I shoved him down, pinning his body under my arm. His face turned red with rage; I felt his muscles tense under me as he tried to swing, then push at me. His anger turned to fear as he realized he was trapped. I leaned in and hissed in his ear, close enough that I could hear his artery pulsing, the soft swoosh of his blood ringing in my ears.

"Whatever you thought you were getting tonight, think again. This is going to be the worst night of your life."

He opened his mouth to call out, by my hand smothered his cry before he had a chance. He was too disoriented to take it in as I gagged him, then bound him to the four-poster with chains of carefully knotted silk ties.

I sat back and looked at him. He stared back. The empty look in his eyes was unnerving. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

It was a mistake. His scent came rushing at me, and with it the memory of my jacket falling open, the buttons scattering in the street; the cold snow beneath my back; the mean laughter of the men; the shame. At the same time thirst, pure and simple, coursed through me.

I began to panic. I had to get this over with. I had to kill him before I couldn't control myself.

I looked him over again. He was still too drunk to really understand what was happening to him. His eyes kept going in and out of focus. His periodic struggle to free himself was half-hearted at best. It wasn't what I'd envisioned. I'd wanted him to suffer, knowing that he was paying the price for what he'd done to me. But I had no choice.

I closed the space between him and me and crushed his neck. For an instant his eyes bulged with surprise, and then the light was snuffed out of them. I backed away from his corpse on my hands and knees. My hands burned where I had touched his skin.

I sat on the end of the bed for a long time, holding my head in my hands.

When I'd regained my composure, I looked around the room one last time. I spied a lighter next to a humidor. I took it and walked over to the body. With one swipe, I tore open his undershirt and began my final act.

When I left the Candler house, the smell of charred meat floated through the upper hallway. When the maid discovered the dead Candler heir the next morning, she'd find the word "rapist" burned into his bloated body.

They found me before I found them.

"Did you do it?" Emil whispered, his voice as dry as the winter wind.

I nodded. "No one is awake yet. They won't find him until morning."

"Did anyone see you?"

"No."

"Good," Emil said, pressing his lips together in a grim smile. "Randall will take you through the woods to a safe place. From there it is up to you whether you follow the road or the railroad. But be clear, Rosalie – you are not welcome in Atlanta again. Next time I will not be so indulgent."

Randall took my arm obediently and I let myself be led away from the dark streets of Tuxedo Park. The clean, cold air was bracing. With each step further from the Candler house, my confidence returned.

Despite the difficulties, I had managed to kill the Georgian. Now, only three remained. I needed to get back to Rochester and strike again, quickly, before something else happened to unsettle me.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N Thanks to prettypinkbookworm for beta reading this chapter. I hope you enjoy it.**

CHAPTER 16

As we ran through the forest, I thought about what I'd accomplished in Atlanta. In the end it seemed very little. I'd killed Trey, but the victory felt hollow. He hadn't even recognized me; he'd barely even been aware enough in his drunken haze to realize what was going on. He'd been more confused, or even angry, than he'd been afraid.

_You managed to not be destroyed by Randall and Emil_, I reminded myself, stealing a glance at the tall creature running beside me. But that, too, didn't seem like much. I'd brought that danger on myself. Congratulating me for avoiding it was almost laughable.

No; now, as the early light of dawn began to stain the sky, my vision of heroic revenge seemed childish. In my head, I'd grown into the avenging angel the bums of Rochester thought they'd seen. But I'd hardly been selfless or brave. Instead, I'd let myself be seduced by memories of being human and put myself at risk. I'd choked on the scent of blood and barely withstood it. I couldn't even take the time to make Trey see that what he'd done was wrong. I could barely stand to be in the same room with him; could hardly stop feeling the wet snow falling on my face as I relived the horror of what he'd done to me. I was too weak.

All my carefully reasoned arguments for why I needed to take my revenge were giving way to a slow, sinking feeling of hopelessness.

Maybe Esme was right. Nothing I could do now would ever erase what those men had done to me then. Maybe it was better to let it go.

"The train will run by here soon," said Randall, interrupting my thoughts as we slowed to a walk along the tracks. "It slows down here because of the bridge up ahead. I know it goes North, but I'm not sure where North," he fretted. Odd that he would even care.

"I'll figure it out, Randall. Thank you for escorting me here."

I heard the shrill whistle from miles away. Randall looked at the sky nervously.

"You don't need to wait. I know you'll want to be indoors soon."

He grimaced slightly and twisted his elegant fingers together. "I don't know if Emil will be angry if I leave before you get on the train," he mumbled, staring at the ground.

The poor man. He was torn between his fear of being caught in the sun and that of displeasing his mentor.

"I bet you'll be able to see me get on the train, even if you leave now," I suggested, trying to stifle the smile that was creeping across my face.

"Do you think?" Randall asked eagerly.

I nodded. "Look over there," I said, pointing back in the direction from which we'd come. "You can make it to that clearing before the train comes. You'll have a clear view."

He beamed. "Thank you, Rosalie. I know you're not supposed to come back, but it was…fun to have you here," he confided, clasping my hand in his stony grip.

I gave his big hands a squeeze. "Off you go," I urged. He hesitated a second, almost like there was more he wanted to say, but then turned and ran deeper into the woods. He managed the distance to the clearing easily. I could track his progress through the thick cover of the trees – he crashed through boughs and twigs carelessly, flushing flocks of birds in his wake. He is just like a big puppy, I thought, as I watched him go, careless and exuberant and unaware of his own body. So unlike the Cullens, whose every move was an exercise in grace and beauty.

When he got to the clearing he turned and waved. I waved back, feeling foolish for acting like a girl going on holiday. _I should be slinking away from here_, I thought, _hiding my face and begging for the blessing of forgetfulness_. The chugging of the train was closer, so I squatted in the underbrush and tensed my body, squaring off against the track. I was ready for the jump, but felt at best resigned to going back to Rochester. I wasn't sure what I would do once I got there. At least I had a long train ride to figure it out.

I ended up not having much time to gather my thoughts. The car I'd slipped into was not empty, and its occupants were not as civilized as Mr. Dearborn had proved to be.

They were drunk, all five of them. The entire car reeked of vomit and urine, an undercurrent of blood – spoiled by alcohol -- barely cutting through. I hesitated a moment, wondering what I should do, but in that moment one of them noticed me.

"Where'd you come from?" The first man demanded. I froze. _I could just ignore him, _I thought. _Or slip out. He would think he imagined me._

"Look, John. A girl." He jabbed the ribs of the man nearest him to get his attention. "A pretty one."

His companion, John, fixed a bleary stare in my general direction. When his eyes finally focused, he broke into a leer.

"Well, well. What have we here?" His words were like a slap in the face. They were the same words Trey had spoken when he'd found me in his room last night.

The train lurched as it took a bend. The men tumbled against each other and fell. I stood still and silent as a statue, not breathing, watching them with contempt.

The one called John worked his way up on his hands and knees and glared at me. "Too good for us, are ya?"

The other men grumbled in general agreement as they helped each other up, a tight, threatening cluster of hurt and anger. This was too familiar. All the fuzzy memories of that night over a year ago came into sharp focus.

"Too good for us?" he repeated. "She's too good to even talk to us, boys!" He gestured wildly at me and turned to the men as if to rally the troops, struggling to stay on his feet as the car rocked and swayed. "Who does she think she is?"

He turned and looked at me menacingly. The others were bunched up behind him, unsure of what to do.

_This won't be the same, Rosalie._ The voice in my head was quiet but insistent.

"I'll show you," he muttered, lunging for me.

I slipped deftly to the side, letting him run headlong into the wall of the car. He crumpled, then fell flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Before he had the chance to regain his breath, I reached down and wrapped my hands around his neck in a chokehold. My white fingers were stark against his dirty skin.

Without any strain, I lifted him up and threw his body against the wall, pinning him above my head. Gently, I squeezed. His face began to grow red. I heard a slight rustle behind me.

"Don't any of you try anything while my back is turned. I'll know it before you've moved so much as an inch," I growled. The rustling stopped.

I waited until the man's face became purple. Then I let go, dropping him to the floor. He sputtered and coughed, trying to gulp in as much air as he could.

I watched him scramble away from me until he ran into the boxcar wall.

"Don't you ever touch another woman again," I hissed at him.

He nodded furiously, unable to talk.

I spun on my heel and flew to the door, throwing it open. A blast of fresh air rushed in. I looked down. The tracks were running along a plain now. The incline of the embankment was not that steep.

"Everyone out," I ordered as I stepped away from the door, turning on the men. Their eyes widened with horror.

"Now, while the jump isn't far. Otherwise, I'll throw you out myself." I looked down at their disgraced friend to make my point.

The men inched against the wall in a big knot, easing their way to the opening. One man gulped as he took in the distance to the ground.

"I won't ask again," I said with an edge.

Quickly, one by one, they threw themselves from the car, disappearing in a tumble over the embankment.

"You, too," I said, turning to John where he still sat on the floor.

He shuddered and got to his knees. I watched as he moved, barely able to crawl. I strode over and picked him up by an arm and leg, carrying him effortlessly to the open air.

"Remember what I said," I said, holding him close to hiss in his face. His eyes widened with fear and he began to cry. Disgusted, I threw him from the speeding train.

I had bolted the door closed before he even hit the ground.

Then, I huddled in a corner on the dirty metal floor of the boxcar, head in hands. I thought about Atlanta and about Rochester. I thought about the men. Not just these men. Any man who thought that because he was stronger, he could hurt someone weak. Men like Esme's husband. Like Royce and his friends.

My jaw tensed as I thought of what they'd done.

I couldn't be weak.

I would have to kill Andrew King and John Parker as soon as I got to Rochester. I couldn't second guess myself any longer.

I would make sure that they knew why they were dying. I would make sure that they suffered. I would make sure the whole of Rochester society would notice.

And I would make sure that Royce knew what was coming. I would save him for last.

**A/N Any suggestions for how the next 2 die??? I've got my plans but I'm open to suggestions:)**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N Hello there! Sorry it has taken me so long...Many excuses, none of them good. Also, apologies -- I just realized that my little formatting to indicate change of scene has not been working (silly me to assume "save changes" would work). So, if in the past you experienced odd transitions between scenes, that is why. I have opted for "xoxoxoxo" in today's chapter. I'll have to go back and correct all the old chapters.**

**Thanks to prettypinkbookworm as always. Hope you enjoy.**

CHAPTER 17

It was already night. I'd swung around to the back door of the house, deep in my own thoughts. When I stepped through the door, Edward was waiting.

"You can't go out like this. Not tonight."

I started, a smart retort on my lips, but his golden eyes looked sincere. I swallowed my words and simply stared at him. He looked exactly the same – unruly copper hair, perfect sculpted face, untouched by any hardship.

He casually leaned against the wall, his solid body blocking my way. "You're in no shape to kill anyone. Not how you're feeling."

I brought an iron curtain down on my thoughts. How could I have forgotten his little trick? I was in no mood for this.

"Out of my way, Edward," I muttered, slipping under his arm. For once, he let me go.

I was halfway up the stairs when I heard his silken voice trail after me.

"Rochester society is aflame with gossip about what happened in Atlanta."

I froze. He knew exactly how to get under my skin.

I was on him in a flash. He knew, of course, so managed to dodge my lunge, which only served to further infuriate me.

"Stop….taunting…me!" I shrieked, hurling whatever I could find – a pair of boots, a pitcher from a side table -- at him. "Tell me what you know!"

"Not unless you promise you won't go out tonight!" Edward retorted, smoothly dodging every missile.

"Edward. Rosalie." Carlisle's gentle voice somehow cut through our shouting, bringing up both to an abrupt halt. Carlisle and Esme stood in the hall, frowning.

Edward looked smugly at me. He had planned this all along.

"What is the meaning of this?" Carlisle asked as Esme looked with dismay at the broken porcelain on the floor. She stooped to pick up the pieces but Carlisle stopped her with one hand.

"Don't, Esme. This is their mess to clean up. After they've told us what is going on."

Esme straightened herself up, sadness tingeing her eyes as she looked over the scene. Carlisle looked expectantly at me but I looked away, my bottom lip quivering with anger.

"I was just trying to stop her from going out on her next killing spree," Edward said nonchalantly. "I am so sorry, Esme, for the damage to your porcelain. I had no idea she would react so…_violently_." He put extra emphasis on the word.

"You did this on purpose," I hissed, turning back to face them all. "I'd be in perfect control if you hadn't manipulated me with your teasing and tricks."

"She's completely out of control," Edward protested, his eyes flashing. "She threw innocent people off a moving train…"

"They weren't innocent!" I raged. "And I didn't hurt them; I saw them land and they were fine!" I turned to Esme, pleading. "Esme, they would have had their way with me, or any other woman, if…"

"They were never a threat to you, Rosalie," Edward broke in. "You chose to throw them off the train because you want the drama."

"That's not fair!" Every muscle in my body was tense with fury.

"You're so caught up in your revenge fantasies you don't care what risks you take," Edward continued right over my protest, his voice louder and louder. "I read your mind. Your judgment can't be trusted right now. It's…"

"Enough." Carlisle interrupted softly. "Enough."

Carlisle's dark eyes shone with regret; I felt small under his gaze. I looked around at the damage I'd caused. The boots were lodged deep in the wall, one hanging by the heel, the other stuck sole-first. There was almost nothing left of the pitcher and bowl I'd thrown – a few pieces, but mostly dust. And the side table itself was mere splinters. I didn't even remember throwing that.

I looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry, Esme."

I felt a pat on my head. "It's all right dear. They are only things. You are much more important than they are to me."

I looked up to see Carlisle still gazing at me. His face was as placid as ever, but his eyes were tinged with sadness.

"Both of you clean this mess up, then join Esme and me in the study," he said abruptly, folding his arms and turning on his heel to disappear down the hallway. Esme gave my arm a little squeeze then disappeared after him.

We worked in silence. It wouldn't take long to clean up the debris, even though we were proceeding at a sullen, human pace. We'd have to tackle the real damage later. As we worked, I thought about the last time I'd been called before my real father to account for my behavior. It had been an infrequent occurrence at best – my mother always favored me and usually convinced my father that my mischief was too insignificant to warrant any attention. And once Royce had begun courting me, well, then I could do no wrong.

This would be a novel experience.

**xoxoxoxoxo**

We crept into the study.

Carlisle sat wearily at his desk, cradling his head in his hands. Esme stood stiffly, looking out the window into the black night, her back to him. They'd been arguing.

Carlisle lifted his head and looked at us. "Sit down." We swiftly obeyed. I stared at my hands for what seemed like a long time. Finally, Carlisle sighed.

"Rosalie, most importantly, we are glad you are home safe. We were all very worried about you. I trust you encountered no problems in Atlanta?"

I shook my head without lifting it. Technically, I wasn't lying, though I was sure if Carlisle knew I'd run into the coven he'd have a different point of view.

Edward shifted beside me on the couch. He knew. I inhaled sharply, wondering what would happen. But Carlisle was too preoccupied to notice, and continued.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell us about?"

I looked up, not sure what he was getting at.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Carlisle?"

Carlisle looked at Edward, who shrugged. "She doesn't, really," he said.

"About the murder? Edward has heard quite a bit about it on this end."

I looked back at Edward, my eyes narrowing. "What have you heard?"

"That it happened after a big Christmas party. He was found tied up in his own four poster, his neck broken, with third degree burns on his torso."

I tried to conceal my eagerness. "Could they read the burns?"

He nodded curtly, his lip curling with disgust.

I hugged my arms about me, trying to hide my glee.

Esme's soft voice broke in. "His mother found him, Rosalie. His mother."

I stiffened. "No one felt sorry for my mother." My voice sounded tight and painful to my ears.

"Oh, Rosalie." Esme seemed to sag against the window sill.

Carlisle stepped in quickly to take command of the conversation once again. "And these people Edward claims you threw from the train?"

"Vagrants." My chin jutted out, daring Edward to contradict me. "They threatened me. Of course they would never have been able to hurt me, but I had to teach them a lesson. It was the principle of the thing."

Carlisle looked at me. His big eyes were compassionate. Suddenly, I felt a twinge of guilt.

"I made sure the embankment wasn't steep before I made them jump," I whispered, dropping my eyes to my hands once again. I heard the sound of Carlisle drumming his fingers on the leather desk top. It was a habit I'd noticed he had when he was deep in thought.

"So now you have come back, intent on finishing your task," Carlisle mused, turning his chair away with a creak to stare at the crackling fire in the fireplace.

I lifted my head to watch. The blue hearts of the flames danced while he waited for my answer.

"Yes."

"Are you certain you are in control?"

I paused. If he had asked me a mere day ago, as I had run through the forest in Atlanta, I wouldn't have known what to say. But now, I felt clear headed, at least about what I needed to do.

"Yes."

He sighed again, deeply. He turned back to his desk, the chair again screeching in protest, and looked at me over the desk's broad expanse. "Very well. I won't belabor the need to be discreet, Rosalie. And I would appreciate it if you would let Edward follow you. Just in case you run into trouble."

I opened my mouth to protest, but something in Carlisle's eyes made me stop. I snapped my mouth shut and nodded in obedience.

"When will you go?" Esme still stared outside, as if she were waiting for new answers more to her liking to emerge from the darkness.

"Tonight." The word seemed to echo in the study.

Esme turned from the window. If I hadn't known better, I'd have mistaken the shine in her eyes for tears.

"Be careful," she said wistfully.

Carlisle rose and went to her, taking her hand in his. I saw the way he looked at her – so apologetic, so sad – and I wondered if I'd been the cause of their argument. A new wave of guilt washed over me. But before I could say anything, they were gone, leaving me with Edward to plan the night's festivities.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: And now, the killing recommences. Enjoy. Thanks to prettypinkbookworm for the beta reads!**

CHAPTER 18

I pinned Edward down with an icy stare. "Does Royce understand what is happening?"

He pressed his perfect lips in a grim line. "You didn't leave much room for interpretation, Rose."

"You can never be too certain," I said primly. "In case you haven't noticed, Royce isn't exactly the most independent thinker."

Even perfect, goody-two-shoes Edward couldn't keep the corner of his mouth from turning up at that. "I never will understand what you saw in him, Rosalie."

I waved my hand dismissively. "Irrelevant. So, if he knows, I'm sure his friends know."

He nodded, a flash of irritation marring his perfect features. "It's all they've been thinking about. Sheer, idiotic panic."

I nodded appreciatively. "What are they doing?"

He snorted. "Besides huddling at the club getting drunk? Royce has hired some thugs to watch your family's home. He's convinced your brother has a hand in it."

"My brother?" My voice broke with outrage. "My brother could barely fight a schoolyard bully, let alone kill an adult man. Really."

"Well, they have to come up with some explanation. They thought you were dead, or so humiliated you'd never show your face again. And even if you weren't, as a human woman, you'd hardly be able to put up a great show of force."

"True."

"So, they are watching your house. John Parker has been hiding out at his office, trying not to think about it. Andrew King is refusing to leave the house. It's been driving his parents crazy," Edward grinned, "because of course they have no idea what this is all about.

And Royce. Well, your man Royce thinks he has it all figured out. He's told his parents he's decided to take a trip. They think he's already gone. Frankly, they were glad; he was getting so jumpy that he was getting on Papa King's nerves. While he's awaiting passage to Europe, Royce has rented himself an old speakeasy to hide out in – complete with guards – so that no one will be able to get to him."

I had to hand it to Royce. He knew how to leverage his network to get things done.

I leaned back against the sofa cushions. "Andrew and John will be easy."

"Yes, they will be," Edward agreed.

I looked at him steadily. "I don't want you to help me. You can follow, but you cannot intervene."

He returned my gaze solemnly. "As long as you don't do anything…excessive, you have my word."

My mind was already racing. I knew exactly where Parker, Thomason and Parker, Esq., was located. It would be an easy run on a moonlit night.

**xoxoxoxoxo**

The office building was magnificent. It formed part of a large arcade. The open arch at its entrance led to a wide gallery where shoppers would often promenade and busy businessmen would scurry through, looking for shortcuts to their next appointments. We slipped through the arch, concealing ourselves in the shadows, and came face to face with a magnificent Christmas tree. It was easily 30 feet tall and was decorated with gaudy, oversized glass ornaments shaped like children's toys. Fake, oversized packages wrapped in shiny papers were piled at the bottom.

It was perfect.

"Stay here," I hissed at Edward. He nodded silently and shrunk into the darkness. I looked once at the sign to pinpoint the floor I needed and began running up the stairs.

I found the office with no problem. The front door was glass, lovingly etched so that father's and son's names acted as bookends, the past and future of the firm. I tried the polished knob. Of course it was locked. I thought about picking it, but I was beyond niceties. I smashed my fist through the glass and unlocked the door from inside.

I heard a flutter of activity somewhere deep inside the office. Apparently my break-in had drawn some attention. _Good_, I thought, smiling tightly. _Let him suffer the anticipation._

I took my time reaching him, listening to the little rat-like sounds and whimpers he made. When I found him, he was huddled in the corner of his father's office, trying to hide behind a filing cabinet.

"I find myself in need of some legal advice, John Parker," I began, my musical voice ringing out in the night.

He stared at me with wonder. "You're dead." He shook his head slowly. "There's no way you could be alive."

I laughed, letting the notes rise and fall like birdsong. "Well, that's just the thing. You're right. I'm not alive." In a flash, I was upon him. I grabbed his hand and he gasped at my cold, stony grip.

"See?" I pulled his hand over the place that had been my heart. "No heartbeat." I leaned close to his face, watching the beads of sweat collect on his pallid face. "No warmth at all," I whispered, letting my cold breath envelop him.

He shuddered and closed his eyes. I dropped his hand and left him cowering alone on the floor. When he opened his eyes again, I was back in the center of the room. My quick movements confused him even more.

Relishing his confusion, I continued, walking back slowly toward him. "And yet here I am, with you, in this office. You felt me. You hear me. You see me. I bet you even smell me. So I'm certainly not dead, either. So tell me, John," I sat down with a flirtatious flourish on the corner of his Daddy's desk. "What am I to do?"

He gulped hard, his Adam's apple bobbing above his loosened collar.

"I…I… I don't know what you mean, Rosalie."

I frowned playfully, crossing my arms. "You most certainly do, John Parker."

"Honest, Rosalie, I don't. I'm really sorry, we never meant to…"

I was at his throat before he could finish the sentence. "Don't you ever tell me what you _meant_ to do. You did it. And you know it." I tossed him back against the wall and heard the cherry paneling splinter underneath his weight. He bounced off the wall and crashed into the cabinet, slumping and sliding down to the polished hardwood floor.

I settled myself lightly on the desk while I waited for him to catch his breath.

"As I was saying," I began again, watching his expression. "I need a legal opinion. If someone isn't really alive, can they be found guilty of murder?"

He stared at me with sheer terror in his eyes.

"And even if they can be, what do you call it when someone is excused because of extenuating circumstances? Oh, do be a dear and tell me. My little brain can't quite seem to find the term."

He swallowed again. "Crimes of passion."

I squealed with forced delight. "Yes, that's it. Crimes of passion. Well, I was wondering if even if I was able to be charged with murder from beyond the grave, couldn't I argue I just got carried away? You know," I said, my voice suddenly raw, "it's been so hard to rest, knowing what you all did to me. Knowing that you got away with it. Knowing that you left me for dead and haven't spared a thought since the day the constable closed the case."

"It was an accident!" He was yelling now, trying to scramble to his feet against the splintered wall. "We didn't realize, Rosalie. Please, you've got to believe me."

"It was no accident!" I roared, jumping down from the desk to block his way. "How many others did you hurt?" I demanded. "How many?"

He started to cry. "It was an accident," he kept insisting, pleading with me with bleary eyes. "Always an accident." He sank back to the floor, rocking on his knees while tears left a trail on his hot face.

I stood and watched, unmoved.

Eventually he stopped crying. When he did, he looked up at me, resignation in his eyes.

"Where is your brother?"

I snorted dismissively. "I don't know why you think my brother has anything to do with this. My family thinks I'm dead, too."

He blanched. "Stop saying that."

"Saying what?"

"That you're not dead. You are."

"How can I be here, with you, if I'm dead?"

He screwed his eyelids tightly shut. He'd balled his hands up into fists. "You're not here. You're a figment of my imagination."

"Does this feel like your imagination, John?" I whispered in his ear. Before he could answer, I'd wrapped my hands around his neck and began to squeeze.

**xoxoxoxoxo**

Edward was waiting for me under the Christmas tree. I'd carried John Parker's body down on my back. I draped it under the tree, amidst the oversized presents. Looking around, I spied an oversized bow on one of the boxes. I tore it off and arranged it on his broken neck.

I stepped back and eyed the arrangement critically.

"Too much?" I asked Edward, who simply shrugged.

I pulled a piece of Parker, Thomason & Parker letterhead out of my pocket. I read the note I'd written upstairs again, relishing every word.

"Merry Christmas, all you rapists. See you in hell."

Edward rolled his eyes. "Really, Rosalie. That is hardly subtle."

I stuck my chin out. "I'm not trying to be subtle. I'm trying to inspire fear."

I walked to the corpse and laid the note carefully on top. The creamy, thick paper perfectly set off John's navy pinstripe suit, I thought admiringly.

It was only then, when I caught the stench of death from his body, that I realized I hadn't noticed John Parker's scent. Not once.

I smiled grimly.

Edward was staring at me, amazed. I shrugged and made my way to the arch, pausing only to say over my shoulder, "Don't be so surprised. And don't dawdle. We've got one more visit to make tonight."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: One more down, one to go...Special thanks to prettypinkbookworm for her beta reading.**

CHAPTER 19

I recited their names as I ran along the back of their yards. Woodside. Cunningham. Todd. Ellis. Ellsworth. Stebbins. Hutchinson. Eastman. Mulligan. Stern. Dunn.

Once upon a time, I had turned their names over in my head, imagining my triumphant arrival in their midst. Me, joining the royalty of East Avenue, taking my rightful place at Royce's side.

Now I named their homes like a penitent worrying beads, marking each one with grim determination as I came closer to my destination: 666 East Avenue. The other King home and Andrew's hiding place.

The gothic mansion loomed over the trees and we slowed to a walk.

"How ironic," murmured Edward when I pointed out the house number. "Couldn't you have found a cemetery while you were at it?"

"St. Paul's Episcopal. A few blocks back," I whispered smugly. For someone who'd been around here a long time, he was surprisingly unaware of his surroundings.

The yard – if one could rightly call it a yard – was full of ghostly chestnut trees, their limbs stretching for the dark sky. A greenhouse, dim with some unknown light, cast its glow upon the snow.

"Roses," breathed Edward, spying their lush pinks and reds behind the glass. He lifted his nose to the night air and breathed reverentially, exaggerating every movement for effect.

I stamped my foot, sending an explosion of ice crystals in the air. "You can't smell them through the glass, Edward. Stop pretending you're so superior."

He closed his eyes and inhaled again. "You can if you focus. There's a window that's been left open a crack."

He could have passed for a statue, standing there, head back, the only movement a delicate quiver of his nostrils. He stayed that way for minutes, simply breathing in the scent of the roses. Finally, when my patience was about to end, he lifted his lids and stared at me.

"But then, I doubt there is much hope of getting you to focus on anything tonight. That is, beside this."

His graceful neck inclined toward the mansion.

I sat in silence. He was just trying to talk me out of it.

His brow furrowed. "I'm not. It's just…"

"Just what?" I said from between my teeth.

"You made such a scene with Parker. What are you planning to do here?"

"You should know," I said, crossing my arms.

He sat in silence, probing my unspoken thoughts.

"Oh, Rosalie. I don't know if that is such a good idea."

I turned on my heel and began gliding across the crust of the unmarred snow. "It's an excellent idea. And I'm doing it whether or not you approve."

Edward whirled in front of me. I tried to dodge him but he moved backwards, effortlessly keeping pace with me while he spoke.

"Don't you think it will be enough to kill him in his home? Royce will find out soon enough. He's the only one who matters."

I felt a flicker of annoyance pass over my face. My mother had drilled into me the importance of keeping your feelings to yourself, but it had always been a hard lesson for me to take to. Not that it mattered with Edward.

"It is not enough. It has to be public."

"But why, Rosalie?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But why?"

"You know why!" I cried, turning on him and coming to a stop. "You know. Don't make me say it."

"You have to say it, Rose," he murmured, his dark eyes softening. "If you are going to do this, you have to own up to what you are about to do."

"Fine, then," I answered smoothly, raging inside. "He has to be humiliated. They all do. And their families."

Edward stood in the snow, an expectant look on his face.

I dropped my eyes to my feet. If I concentrated, I could make out individual flakes on the tips of my boots. _I know you already know_ , I thought. _I don't know why you are making me say it._

He kept waiting.

The words came out of me in a soft rush, leaving me feeling like a deflated balloon. "I want them to feel like I felt. Like my mother and father felt. I want them to be ashamed."

The words were still hanging in the air when I felt his strong hand on my shoulder. "Fair enough," he said quietly, giving me a squeeze. "Just don't do anything stupid. I'll wait for you behind the greenhouse."

XOXOXOXO

He was pacing nervously when I returned, Andrew's body slung over my back.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," he grumbled, eyeing the corpse.

"I didn't talk you into anything. I'm just following my plan," I answered sweetly, traipsing across the yard. "And I'm _allowing_ you to attend to me this evening to humor Carlisle. Cross me and I will make you pay. I mean it, Edward." I stood in the glow of the greenhouse and pinned him in my stare. "Don't try to stop this. Not now."

He held his hands up in mock surprise. "Far be it from me to get between a killer and her murderous intentions," he said bitterly.

"Very funny," I said, but really, he couldn't bother me now. Killing Andrew had been too easy. He was hysterical before I ever entered his room. Unfortunately for him, his anxious father hadn't been able to keep awake, despite his apparent intention to keep a vigil through the night – by the time I arrived, he was slumped in a ladder-backed chair in front of Andrew's door. The old man never stirred -- not when I turned the knob in the door; not when Andrew managed to shriek once before I struck; not even when his dead son's hand had accidentally brushed him as we'd made our way out.

No, it had been too easy because it had been too fast. I hadn't gotten to savor Andrew's pain and fear. That's why we needed to go to the University of Rochester Library.

XOXOXOXOXO

"You can't be serious," Edward pleaded. "Rosalie, this is going too far. The whole city of Rochester will see this."

"So?" I said, raising a brow as I turned to him.

He was standing at the foot of the granite stairs that led to the front of the library. In the moonlight, the way his skin glowed, he almost looked like a part of the staircase itself – a beautiful statue, pointing the students to knowledge and wisdom within the hallowed walls of the library.

I turned back to my work. Andrew's body was splayed out across the top steps. Next to his body, gouged out in the granite, was the message, "One left. You know who you are."

With Edward's eyes burning into my back, I reached down and stripped Andrew of his clothes in a few, fluid motions.

"Please, Rosalie."

My back stiffened and I crushed Andrew's clothes into a tiny ball in my hands. When I spoke, my voice rang hollow in the cold air. "Please, what, Edward? Please don't kill him? It's too late for that. Please don't be angry with him? Please don't exact the revenge that has been haunting you for the last year? Please don't scare Royce out of whatever is left of his alcohol-sodden mind?"

I flew down the stairs at Edward, whose mouth was hanging open.

"How dare you." I pushed against his chest, but it was like a wall. "If you don't have the stomach for this, then go. I don't need you here. But don't you dare preach to me about what is right or wrong."

He snapped his jaw shut with a click. "Fine." He wheeled and started down the stairs. "You can tell Carlisle exactly what you have done tonight. I'm sure it will be a very…interesting conversation."

He disappeared around the building, leaving me to stand in fury.

"Fine," I spat back, throwing the ball of clothes away and striding down the stairs after him. As I turned around the corner of the library, I stumbled right into a frightened bum, knocking him to the ground. My nose wrinkled in disgust as the smell of a dozen unwashed nights attacked me.

He stared up from the sidewalk, shaking.

_So, you saw the whole thing, did you?_

He sat, frozen, like a deer before the wolf's jaws.

"Enjoy the show," I sneered. "Tell your friends there's more where this came from," I said, stepping over him. He huddled on the ground, moaning and cowering, as I continued on.

As I made my way across the square, I felt a twinge. _Should I have let him go? _ I started to look over my shoulder at the man I'd knocked over, but drew myself short.

_Nonsense, Rosalie, _ I thought to myself, shaking my head._ He can't hurt you. But lingering here will only bring you more trouble._

Squaring my jaw, I headed through campus and didn't look back.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: These chapters were hard for me to write, especially since I know how much you are all anticipating them ;-) Special thanks to Bribbie for her betareading these, and to all of you for the amazing reviews, which really spurred me on. I hope these live up to your expectations. With that said, let the killing begin**

I kept pacing like a caged animal, unable to leave the house.

Edward had run home to tell Carlisle what I'd done, thinking Carlisle would put an end to it once and for all. My throat constricted as I'd listened to his words.

"She's gone too far. It's bound to attract the attention of the Volturi." His golden eyes were wild, and I shuddered when I realized he was afraid. "You have to stop her, Carlisle."

Carlisle tilted his head, seemingly deep in thought. "No, this won't attract the Volturi. There's nothing to mark this as the work of one of us."

"But what about the man who saw us?" Edward said, darting me an angry glance.

Carlisle sighed. "An indigent man saw a man and a woman with a dead body. He saw you do things no human could do. Was he drunk?"

Carlisle looked to me hopefully, but I shook my head. He'd been smelly, but I'd picked up no trace of the distinctive smell of liquor.

"No matter," Carlisle shrugged. "Most likely he will wake up in the morning and think he dreamed it all. Even if he thinks it was real, he'd never be able to place you. And no one would believe him if he did." A ghost of a sad smile flickered across his face again.

"Humans are very frail, Edward. Not just in body, but also in mind. He will put it out of his head because it is inexplicable. And the Volturi will be none the wiser."

He glided across the room and clapped Edward on the shoulder. "You are right to be cautious, but in this case, your fears are misplaced."

Edward scowled.

Carlisle turned to me, then, his voice mellow and smooth. "The only reason Rosalie would have to stop would be a change of her own heart." He pinned me under his gaze, like one of the bugs my youngest brother used to skewer in his glass specimen cases. I met his gaze, resisting my impulse to squirm.

"Have you had enough of this violence yet, Rosalie?"

"No," I whispered, lifting my chin. "I must go back for Royce."

Carlisle sighed again. The silence pooled around us as we waited for someone to speak.

"Well, it is your choice, Rosalie," Carlisle finally acknowledged. "Perhaps you can monitor the reaction to the latest killings," he suggested quietly to Edward. "Until he comes back, Rosalie, you must stay here. There's no sense in tempting fate."

And so I'd walked the halls of the big house all day and into the evening, keeping a watchful eye on the tracings of the sun as it poked out from behind grey clouds.

xoxoxo

When Edward finally returned, it was late. He looked weary, somehow. Inky shadows seeped under his eyes; his copper hair was disheveled. I felt a surge of pity for him as I watched him sink into the sofa and close his eyes. He had no purpose of his own, really. There was nothing meaningful in his never-ending life. Instead he played babysitter, making sure I did not get into trouble.

"Don't," he ordered, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

"Don't what?" I asked.

"Don't feel sorry for me," he snapped, his eyes still closed. "I am perfectly happy with my life, Rosalie. Don't for a minute think that I am meddling in your life because I have nothing better to do. Nor should you think I am seeking fulfillment by protecting you. I am doing this for Carlisle and Esme, not for you." His mouth twisted bitterly. "As Carlisle has pointed out, what you choose to do is no concern of mine, so long as it doesn't put us at risk."

His words stung.

I choked back my anger. I couldn't fight with him. Not now. I needed to know what he'd found out.

He chuckled softly. The bitterness seemed to seep away from his face, replaced by amusement. "Poor Rosalie. You can control your temper when you want to, can't you? Just not as far as these swine are concerned. Very well, I'll tell you what you want to know."

He opened his eyes and looked at me, weighing where to begin.

"Their bodies were found this morning, once students and business men started coming in for the day. The Kings and the Parkers are devastated. They tried to hush things up but the public nature of their sons' deaths has made it too much to hide. There were police everywhere. Wild rumors are ripping up and down East Avenue, of course, but none of them are even close to the truth.

The Kings, though…the Kings are suspicious. They are smart enough to notice all these deaths have been in Royce's closest circle; and your notes have not been subtle. They think Royce is already safe in Europe, but even so, Mr. King sent some of his minions over to your family's home to see where your father and brothers were last night."

"He knows what Royce did," I seethed, my mind racing as I thought of the thugs menacing my family.

"I believe he suspected all along. Apparently he's had to pay to cover up some of Royce's misdeeds in the past." For an instant, disgust distorted Edward's perfect face. Then he continued. "They found nothing, of course. Your oldest brother is not back from college; the other is too young to do that kind of damage. And your father….Well, suffice to say, no one would suspect him of taking a stand against the Kings. Now Mr. King is just frustrated that he can't figure out who is responsible for the killings."

A surprising wave of solace passed through me as I realized my family was safe. I'd written them all off after they'd put away the last reminders of my life; I'd never suspected that I still harbored feelings for any of them.

"And the bum from last night?" I asked, afraid of what he might say.

"No sign. I checked the soup kitchens and the churches, but I couldn't find him. Nor did I hear any crazy stories floating about. He must have moved on without telling anyone what he saw."

"Really? You heard nothing?" I said with disbelief.

"Really," Edward answered with a small smile. "Not even a mention of the Avenging Angel."

I sagged with relief. I didn't like the idea of that man being out there, talking about what he'd seen, but I didn't want to have to do anything about it, either.

Edward paused. "So that leaves Royce."

I quit breathing, waiting to hear his news.

"Two men brought him word of his friends' murders this afternoon. He is frantic, but can't leave yet. His passage isn't ready."

"So he's trapped," I whispered.

"Trapped. For one more day. Behind a bank vault door, guarded by two armed men. If you want him, you have to do it now."

I stood, frozen in place.

Edward continued on. "You won't get another chance, Rosalie. And you'll have to do this alone. I'm through being your watchdog."

A flash of insecurity passed through me. What if I couldn't do it? What if after all this, I couldn't bear to face Royce? I looked pleadingly at Edward.

"This is your battle. You will have to fight it on your own," he said stonily.

I looked at him, dumbfounded. _All this time you've kept tabs on me, you've followed me, and now, when I face my most difficult challenge, you are just going to abandon me?_

His face softened a little as he read my thoughts. "If nothing else, last night should have taught you that you have nothing to fear; you seem to have conquered your instincts. But you have to be sure, Rosalie," he urged. "If you go in half-hearted or doubting yourself, I'm not sure what will happen."

I let his words sink in.

Anxiety darkened his gaze as he watched my reaction.

The clock ticked loudly, marking every second that I spent weighing my decision.

A minute passed. Then two.

"Where?" I whispered.

"Inside the shuttered First Bank of Rochester building on Western."

I nodded. I knew the place. It had been a small bank, never a real rival to the Kings' banking empire, and the first to fail in the Crash. How strange that it had become a speakeasy; what a perfect place for Royce to meet his end.

Finally, noiselessly, I made my way to the door.

"Good luck," Edward whispered as I turned the knob. Then, I stepped out into the darkness, alone.


	21. Chapter 21

Once I'd come in from the suburbs, I should have taken the direct route to Western Boulevard. I could have intersected it quickly and run past its empty shops and quiet alleys to reach Royce's hiding place in mere minutes.

But I was not ready.

I made a large arc around the neighborhood, circling like an anxious cat. I let my gaze linger on the shop windows, imagining what it would be like to shop for myself in broad daylight. The windows were decorated for Christmas, but were a little sparser than I'd expected. My memories of past holidays included boxes wrapped in brightly colored papers and windows bursting with fanciful gifts, lights and sparkling glass ornaments. The boxes in these windows, however, were dressed in sober brown paper, a red or green string trying to bring some cheer to the sad little packages. There was little actual merchandise on display and what there was seemed imminently practical. All in all, it made for a depressing picture.

Still, I was in no hurry to leave the tiny shops. It wasn't even midnight yet. I didn't think Royce would go anywhere tonight. Better to steel my nerves before I had to confront him.

I tried to distract myself with a game, forcing myself to choose one item from each store's pitiful displays, taking my time to choose the perfect gifts amidst the limited choices.

A snow shovel at the hardware store – that was just the sort of practical thing that Carlisle would appreciate. Penny candies at the general merchandise store – those would have to be for my little brother, I thought. Some silk flowers out of the florist's window for Esme, to brighten the house until her garden bloomed again. I giggled out loud, thinking of what Edward would say if I bought him the silly book on courtship featured in the window of the used bookstore.

I dragged my hand behind me, touching the glass with my cold fingertips, imagining what it would be like to have a real Christmas.

And then, I looked up into the window of the thrift shop.

It was stuffed into the window beside a scratched-up dining room set and a treadle sewing machine. The cheap lace of the wedding gown cascaded down from the headless mannequin bride, whose arms held forth a bouquet of dusty paper roses that had faded in the weak Rochester sun. A mismatched veil was carefully spread out over the back of a high chair, waiting for the bride to crown herself and walk down the aisle.

A fake bride-to-be. Just like I had been.

I swallowed my bitterness as I looked at the virginal gown, but then, tucked neatly away behind the mannequin, I spied a battered pram.

Rage coursed through me and I slammed a fist through the glass. The crash echoed in the night, but no one heard. Or, perhaps, no one cared.

I waited until my shallow breaths had returned to normal. Then, I picked through the broken glass and stepped inside the window. It took just a moment to slip out of my own clothes and into the gown. There was no mirror, so I stared into the remaining cracked glass of the window, placing the veil in my hair at a jaunty angle.

The light from the street lamp just kissed the glass, turning it into a makeshift mirror. My warped face reflected back at me, all broken planes of snow white skin, burning eyes and blood red lips.

I reached out to touch my reflection. It was cold.

_All of this, Royce took from you. How can you hesitate?_

Once the thought had sprung into my mind, I knew what I must do. I jumped through the gaping hole in the window into the street, the long train trailing behind me, and ran for his hiding place.

xoxoxo

The bank was shuttered, just like Edward had said. It looked completely abandoned; it was hard to imagine it as a bustling nightclub or a place of commerce.

I crouched in the alley across the street, looking for a way in. The front door was boarded up. It might be too risky, too direct. The guards might be right behind it.

Then again, it wouldn't matter. They wouldn't be able to stop me.

As I sat there considering my options, a stiff wind rose out of the night. Musky sweat filled the air.

Royce.

My mind reeled as I took in his scent. It was the same as that night in the alley. I could smell his fear. I could smell his blood, choked with alcohol.

It caught me unprepared. I fell to my knees, gagging. In my mind, I was lying in the snow again and he was there, on top of me, pulling my hair. Buttons dug into my back with every thrust.

"No!"

The word echoed in the night, bouncing off the alley walls while I struggled to shake the image from my brain.

Slowly, I came under control. Every muscle in my body was tense. I took a deep breath, then another, trying old human habits to relax my legs, my arms, and my neck. When I looked down, I saw my hands were still clutching the paper roses from the thrift shop.

I threw them in the dirty snow and stepped on them as I crossed the street.

It was time.

With the wave of anxiety behind me, I could clearly make out the scents of two others cutting in and out of Royce's odor: the guards, I presumed. Their blood was sweet and strong. It would be safer to avoid temptation, I thought, so I stopped breathing.

I mounted the steps to the bank and stood in front of the boarded up door. With one kick, I smashed it in. Ignoring the shouts inside, I picked up my train and stepped through the splintered wood into the bank.

One man was struggling to get up from his chair; apparently, he'd fallen asleep on his watch. The other was staring, wild-eyed, his gun forgotten in his holster.

"Good evening, gentlemen," I said smoothly, smoothing my gown. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

Before they could answer, I was upon the first, breaking his neck with a single twist.

The other guard screamed as he watched his friend's body drop to the floor.

"Shhh," I said, putting a finger over my lips. "You wouldn't want to wake Royce."

The man's eyes bugged out. He scrambled to the teller's counter, but there was no way out – they'd locked the gate to the steel cage to protect the vault.

I walked closer, enjoying his panic.

"How about a dance with the bride?" I tilted my head coquettishly.

His eyes darted about, looking for an escape. His tensing muscles gave away his every move. When he tried to run, I was there, wrapping an arm around him.

"A waltz then?"

He struggled, but there was no escaping my steely grip. He was like a rag doll in my hands as I whirled and twirled across the marble floor. Never stopping, I leaned in to whisper.

"Thank you for the dance."

He shook in my hands, unable to answer.

On the next spin, I hurled his body against the counter, breaking his back.

He bounced off and landed in a heap. I watched him sputter and cough as the breath slipped out of him. Finally, with terrific effort, he heaved one last gasp and died. I sat for another minute, making sure he was dead. Then, daintily, I stepped over him to the cage. Reaching up, I peeled the steel open and walked through.

All the accoutrements of the bank had been replaced, turning the teller's counter into a lavish bar. Bottles of liquor still sat, waiting for the next poker game or dance. Cheap glassware, dusty from unuse, was lined up in neat rows. The speakeasy must have gone under after Prohibition ended. _Trust Royce to have figured out a way to hide out in a fully stocked bar_ , I thought.

The vault door stood, stark and shiny, behind the counter. I knocked on it once. It gave a muffled thud. It was solid steel, I bet. I pushed the funny handle that looked like a ship's wheel. Nothing.

The combination lock mocked me. I knew Royce was behind that door.

Gripping the wheel, I pulled on the door. At first there was nothing, but slowly the steel began to pucker and warp. A quiet whine filled the air, turning into a shriek of twisting metal as the door collapsed from the strain.

I threw the hunk of steel to the side, ignoring the crash of marble as it skidded across the floor, and stepped into the vault.

The room was dark and windowless, but I could see it was small and lavishly decorated – probably the private gambling room for the speakeasy. Royce couldn't hide for long, and there was no way out but through me.

I let myself breathe and Royce's unmistakable scent assaulted me.

I sucked it in, sighing with satisfaction to know I was so close to what I wanted, even as I choked on the smell.

I stepped to the center of the room. There, in the corner, stood Royce, brandishing a broken table leg. A thrill of excitement ran through me as a mix of emotions – shock, confusion, fear – ran across his face.

"You," he said, a note of wonder in his voice as his eyes swept over me.

We stood in silence, facing off across the narrow confines of the room. Finally, I spoke. "I have waited for over a year, Royce," I said, letting an amused smile play across my face. "Aren't you going to say hello?"

He gripped and regripped his makeshift club, looking past me while he shifted uneasily on his feet. "Where are the rest of them, Rosalie?" he demanded.

"The rest of who?" I purred, relishing his discomfort.

His face crumpled with impatience and he raised his voice. "Your father, your brothers. Whomever else it is that has been playing your little cat and mouse game. They won't get away with it."

"There's nobody else here, Royce. Only me."

He eyed me warily. "That's not possible. How did you get in?"

"I have my tricks."

He sneered and all the ugliness of his soul bubbled to the surface. "Yes, I seem to remember you being very good at your _tricks_ ."

His innuendo broke through the thin veneer of my self control. With a roar I set upon him, twisting away the table leg and shoving him hard. I heard a thud as he hit the vault wall. Regaining my poise, I straightened my gown while I watched him groaning in the corner.

In all my fantasies, I'd imagined this moment. I'd envisioned myself standing above him, ready to strike my final blow. I'd pictured his face twisted in fear as I delivered the words I'd carefully rehearsed.

But nothing had prepared me for this. He wasn't frightened; he was too pigheaded for that. He was angry. He struggled to his knees, grimacing from his cracked ribs, glaring at me the whole time. Steadying himself, he rose to his feet. His wild eyes gleamed in the dark as he wheeled on me, talking.

"You're not Rosalie Hale. Who are you?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

"You know who I am."

"You're not Rosalie. Rosalie couldn't even carry her own shopping bags, let alone do this," he scoffed, gesturing wildly about at the damaged room. His eyes darted over me, taking in my transformed body. "You look like her, but you're different." He licked his lips, the heat of desire flushing his face. "Maybe in a good way."

I stood, frozen, as he limped toward me, his eyes dark.

"If you were the real Rosalie, you'd know your place. You'd be begging for forgiveness, begging for me to take you back."

He stopped a few feet away from me and licked his lips again.

"You'd be on your hands and knees, asking me to keep your murdering father out of jail."

"My father didn't kill anyone," I managed to say in a hoarse whisper.

He was breathing heavily and his eyes had become wild. Despite the limp, he managed to almost swagger, cocksure as he took another step closer. I recognized his look. It was the same look he'd had the night they'd raped me.

He was excited by the violence, and too drunk to be afraid.

The air was thick with his smell now and, much worse, a tiny thread of blood had begun to trickle from his nose. My nostrils flared, taking the scent of it in. I could almost taste what it would be like; underneath all that liquor, it was rich and metallic.

I was choking on my own venom and yet I couldn't move.

"No, you're not my Rosalie," he continued as he came within inches of me, the arrogance of a lifetime of privilege spurring him on. I could see the sheen of his sweat as he leaned in close, his breath a foul cloud in my face.

"Rosalie was a crybaby. She couldn't take a little fun. But you, I can tell – you like it rough, don't you?"

He clamped his hand over my jaw. I stared, still as marble, willing myself not to react. He traced a lazy thumb over my cheekbone and then pulled my hair hard, forcing me to look into his eyes.

I stared silently as a shudder of recognition – or was it confusion -- filled his eyes. Had he noticed that my flesh was cold and unyielding? My odd, golden eyes? Could he see who I really was?

He gulped, hard, shaking his head as if to chase away his momentary doubts. I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and heard the soft thump of his heart beating hard.

I gulped hard, fighting back the impulse to plunge my teeth into his soft neck. Mistaking my reaction for fear, he grinned, meanly.

His hand still on my hair, he leaned in close and breathed in my ear.

"But you, you're different, aren't you? You understand, don't you?" He murmured. "A man's got to have a little release," he said, pressing himself against me. I could feel his arousal; it made me sick.

"Rosalie should have known better, traipsing around like that all by herself late at night. She brought it on herself."

He reached down with one possessive hand to grab my breast. I flinched, but he was oblivious and simply let out a low sigh of satisfaction as he hitched me up higher against his body. He was

"It was probably better that she died," he grunted, pushing against me. "I couldn't have married her after what she did. All those men…it was unseemly."

All my grief and shame and fury rushed to the surface. Roaring, I broke free, twisting his arm and throwing him across the room. He didn't have far to go, falling with a crash onto the card table, which disintegrated under his weight.

In an instant, his carefully cultivated façade of confidence and power had vanished. Naked fear shone in his eyes. Huddled on the floor, he was just a pathetic little boy, exposed for the bully he was.

I strode over to him, laughing at his pathetic shouts for help.

"There's no one to hear you, Royce. Just as there was no one to hear me that night you and your friends raped me."

He tried to scramble away but he couldn't move; his leg was bent awkwardly beneath him, broken. He began to weep.

"You left me for dead, didn't you, Royce?"

"You aren't her!" he insisted, hysteria tingeing his voice. "She was dead. You were dead," he sobbed. "You were, you are. This isn't real. It can't be."

I bent down and picked him off the floor, ignoring his shrieks of pain.

"You're right, I'm not alive. I'm not dead, either." I smiled, flashing my perfect white teeth. He shrinked away from me instinctively, kicking and wriggling to get away, his broken leg swinging uselessly. "But you will be when I am done with you."

He shuddered, finally realizing through the haze of alcohol that this was real.

"I'll do anything, Rosalie," he begged, a sheen of salty tears covering his face as he dangled in my grip. "I'll take you back – it will be like it never happened," he promised.

The rush of his words was nearly as loud in my ears as the call of the blood pulsing in his veins.

"It's too late," I said, cutting him off brusquely.

Quickly, I crushed his shoulders in my grip, the bones crumbling and collapsing in my hand. His arms, dislocated, swung loosely as I let him dangle in pain. Royce's shrieks grew louder and louder, crescendoing right before he passed out.

I dropped him to the ground and settled in to wait for him to revive. He was going to be awake for every part of what I had in store for him.

xoxoxo

I'd lost track of time. I stared blindly at Royce's wrecked body lay on the ground in front of me. His ripe odor had been replaced by the stench of death; it was almost comforting to smell it. I absentmindedly plucked at the lace of my bridal gown. I'd ripped it at some point in the evening and couldn't stop picking at the tattered edges.

"Carlisle, she's over here."

I looked up, confused. A light figure stood in the doorway. Edward.

"It's almost dawn, Rosalie."

I heard his words, but nothing registered. Nothing made sense. I'd destroyed Royce. I'd broken every bone in his body, crushing him to dust, being certain not to draw his blood to the surface. I'd done them one at a time, punishing him bone by bone, joint by joint, until there was nothing left of him but an empty shell. Each cry of pain had left me heady with excitement, like the rush of champagne to my brain.

In the end I'd paralyzed him so that all he could do was choke out his last ragged breaths, using them to beg for mercy, before I'd snapped his neck.

But the elation of final victory did not come. All I felt was numb.

I began to sob silently, cursing the fate that left me without tears.

"Shh. I know." Carlisle's voice came out of nowhere; strong arms lifted me up in the air effortlessly. "I know," he soothed, cradling me against his chest. He kissed my forehead while my silent cries wracked my body.

"Let's get her home," Edward said, and once again, I was flying through the air in Carlisle's arms; flying and wishing for death.

**A/N: This is not the end, in case you are wondering...Hope you enjoyed.**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews and encouragement -- it really meant a lot to me! And so we continue, with a slight shift of pace. Thanks to Bribbie for her betaread -- hope you enjoy! And apologies for format of address, just can't seem to get that right**

February 20, 1935

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

c/o The Palmer House Hotel

17 East Monroe Street

Chicago, IL

My dearest Carlisle,

I hope this letter finds its way to you, and that you are well. I wonder every day if you have yet found us a new home and must admit the ache I feel from your absence never goes away. I know that this will be the pattern of our lives; our time in any one location slipping away like sand through our fingers until it is time to flee. I do not resent it. But I do wonder if I will ever grow used to it. It seems so recently that we arrived here in Rochester. But I know, for Rosalie's sake, we must move on.

She is still not well, Carlisle. She lies in her bed all day long, staring at the wall. The spirit has gone out of her. She barely cares for herself. Edward and I carried her to the woods to hunt the other night, hoping the scent -- so strong in the crisp, icy air -- would revive her instincts, if nothing else. But she just sat limply. In the end we had to press a heavy doe upon her. She drank a little before she turned away.

Our fears have proven correct – she has realized that her revenge does not take away the need for her to face what happened to her, does not change what she has become. She can find no good in it yet, and until she does, I fear she is lost to us. I do not know how to reach her, Carlisle. She is so different than Edward, who almost seems emotionless at times and was so able to turn toward his future. And so different than you, who are so self-aware and forgiving!

Perhaps it was easier for all of us, because we left behind so little. She still keenly feels her loss, though she will not speak of it.

It is forgiveness that she needs most. She must forgive herself. It is so easy to see from our vantage point that none of this was her fault. But she bristles when I tell her this. It is almost the only reaction I can get from her.

So I will wait and watch patiently, hoping she comes around. I wish you were here – I yearn for your counsel! But in the meantime, I take comfort that you are with friends who will care for you and provide you some measure of companionship.

Hurry home to me.

Your loving Esme


	23. Chapter 23

March 15th, 1935

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

c/o The Grand Union Hotel

Ft. Benton, Montana

My dearest Carlisle,

It was with great anticipation that I tore open the envelope of your last letter, hoping for the news that you had settled upon a place for our family and were hurrying back to me. Needless to say, my heart sank to hear that you had found Chicago too crowded and had determined to go further west. I do not doubt your judgment. But I yearn for your quiet confidence and love. I worry I am not up to the task that Rosalie presents to me and wish every day that you were here to guide and consult with me. I thought the simple instincts of a mother would be enough, but I am afraid I have been of little help to her. Perhaps only time can heal her.

I suppose I should start with the good news. She has given up her self-imposed exile and emerges from her room occasionally. She hunts. She does so without any joy, but at least she drinks and keeps herself strong. At some level, then, it seems she has resigned herself to her fate. To what purpose I do not know, for her eyes are still vacant and she has yet to speak of any plans or intentions.

She has resumed her nocturnal wanderings, lingering mostly at the site of her grave and in the trees across from the home of her childhood friend, Vera. I can hardly blame her – after all, it is still not safe for her to emerge during the day so there is little else she can do. But her obsession with Vera's child is not healthy. Edward says that many nights, she will creep up to the sleeping babe's bedroom window and stare at him all night, mesmerized by the rush of his heavy breathing. My heart breaks for her.

Edward maintains a close watch on her. It is very touching to see. I know you think it impossible, but I still cling to the hope that some deeper attachment may blossom between them. He does care for her, but as of yet it is only in a brotherly way, bringing me dutiful reports of her comings and goings and, occasionally, of the things that trouble her mind. I do not push him to do more, for if there is any hope of them growing closer, it must not be forced.

Even Edward has come to realize that we all judged Rosalie too harshly. I cannot believe she regrets the loss of her social life or status. It is the prospect of motherhood, ripped away from her before she even understood how eagerly she wanted it, that nags at her. I know how deep these yearnings can run; I suspect they will be with her for all eternity. If she is lucky, she will find companionship and build a makeshift family, as we have been able to do. This, plus the kindness of time, blunting memory and pain, is my best hope for her.

Dearest Carlisle, how lucky we have been to have overcome the sorrows that plagued us in our human lives, to have found one another and the prospect of an eternity of love! Please be careful on your journeys West – I know that Tanya and the others will provide you with shelter and good cheer, once you make your way to them, but the way there is long and unfamiliar.

My heart goes with you.

Your loving Esme

**A/N In case you are wondering how Esme knows where to send her letters, Carlisle always plans ahead and lets Esme know where he is going so she can forward her letters to his next destination. And it is going to take him awhile to settle on their next home because Carlisle is nothing if not thorough:) Having decided to go West, he has a lot of new ground to cover...**


	24. Chapter 24

April 1, 1935

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

c/o The Elk Mountain Hotel

102 East Main Street

Elk Mountain, Wyoming

Dearest Carlisle,

April Fool's Day, and another month passed without you here. Your letters keep my spirits up; I so treasure the stories you write! I laughed to think of you hunting the buffalo in Montana, and of the strange circumstances you found yourself in. We are lucky you are so persuasive and was able to convince the cowboy sentinel that you had found the buffalo fallen there on the plain. But then, humans' perceptions of events are so malleable, I don't suppose that you were ever in any real danger.

Please don't worry about us here. I don't mean to concern you. I just have no one else to whom I can unburden myself; writing my worries down is almost a relief. The last thing I would want is for you to rush your deliberations, Carlisle. Finding the right place is too important. And the West is so unknown to us, we must be sure we are safe before we move.

Your patients seem to accept that "your family business" has taken you away for so long. Unfortunately, Edward's skill has not been put to good use. Even though they have seen him assist you hundreds of times, they are not quite prepared to have "a mere boy," as they see him, taking up your practice. Most of them have begun to call upon Dr. Robertson's services. He is not very skilled – the stitches he put in the Jackson boy's cheek after he fell upon the barbed wire fence were horrible, the young man's face is so marred – but at least nothing fatal has befallen anyone, so no real harm done.

Rosalie, for the most part, continues to improve. She has her occasional setbacks. The other day she was assisting me with my sewing, when suddenly she became very focused upon the scissors. She turned them over and over in her hand and then rose from her chair, floating over to the hallway mirror. I watched her, confused. I asked what it was that had captured her attention, but she did not reply; it was almost as if I wasn't there.

She sneered at her reflection. "Beauty," she murmured. I had to strain to hear her. She continued, saying, "I thought it was so important. But it has been nothing but a curse."

She brought the scissors up high, brandishing it around her golden nimbus of hair, and a shiver of apprehension ran through me.

"No, Rosalie," I whispered. "If you cut it, it will never grow back."

Edward then appeared out of nowhere and placed his hand over hers just as she was about to hack away, forcing her arm down. She struggled against him but he managed to wrench the scissors from her grip. She then flew at the mirror, smashing it into slivers with her bare hands. I rushed to restrain her but she fought me, screaming the whole time. She is so strong, Carlisle! Her recent listlessness had made me forget how strong one so young can be. It took both of us to finally force her away from the mirror and up to her room. All the while she sobbed, dry, raspy, heartbreaking sobs in which she vowed to injure herself. I hadn't the heart to tell her the truth – that there is nothing that she can do to herself to bring an end to her beauty, nor an end to her existence.

She stayed in her room the rest of the night but in the morning, she emerged, acting as if nothing had happened.

Sometimes I wonder if she is just pretending, trying to lull us into believing she has recovered. But then she will go for days without a sad look or word, and I believe she is truly getting better. God knows I hope she really is.

The sooner you find us a new home, the better off she will be. It will do her good to get a fresh start and be able to go out during the day.

And so I send you blessings for your continued search. Be careful of the Indians, dearest friend. You know how superstitious and wary they can be. I will wait for you here, hoping for the day you return.

Your loving Esme


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: So first of all a big thank you to all of you readers who nominated me for a "best post-Twilight story" award (for Morning Star) in the fanfiction contest hosted by the Denali Coven site. I know not all of you read Morning Star, but I know a lot of you did carry over from that story to this one, so big hugs to you. I am so honored. There are lots of great stories nominated, if you haven't seen the site, visit thedenalicoven./index.cgi. The nominees are posted on thedenalicoven./. **

**Second, I am continuing with the letters... but in case you are worried, wondering when I'll get back to Rosalie's POV, it will be soon. Maybe one letter more from Carlisle:) We all love Carlisle, don't we?? So, just think of these as appetizers before we get back to the main course. Special thanks to Bribbie for her beta reading -- I hope your computer recovers soon! And with that, I am off. Enjoy, and thanks again for all the comments and suggestions...**

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

c/o The Hotel Revere

Main Street and Seventh

Pomeroy, Washington

April 29, 1935

My dearest Carlisle,

I was disappointed that you found nowhere in Montana, nor Oregon, to your liking. Of course, I understand the need to find more predictably cloudy weather. And the idea of week long snowstorms, sprouting up in what clearly should be Spring, is not appealing. Nonetheless, I must admit I am beginning to become impatient for your return.

My love, please do not take my words as a rebuke. If our roles were reversed, I, too, would seek the perfect place; a place where we can be ourselves, unworried by our pasts; a place where Rosalie can be free to discover who she is yet to become. But perhaps this is not meant to be. A mere change of scenery will not wipe away all that Rosalie has been through. Nor can it change the fact that we must always be on the edge of human society, not of it. Your most heroic efforts cannot change that, and it pains me to think you have taken such a burden on yourself when you already carry so many other burdens.

Good enough will be heaven, so long as we are together, Carlisle.

In the meantime, I am glad that our foibles can pass for eccentricity and reclusiveness. It is good that you can travel amongst the humans without arousing their suspicions.

Do you think you will press on to see Tanya's coven? I know the company will be good for your soul, but I hate the idea of you going even further. Even as I write the words, I am ashamed of my selfishness, for I am sure living in hotels, sneaking about in the twilight and dark, is wearing on you. I wish I were there to ease your loneliness.

Know that my thoughts are ever with you.

Your loving Esme


	26. Chapter 26

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

The Fairmont Empress Hotel

721 Government Street

Victoria, British Columbia

May 5, 1935

My dearest Carlisle,

My hand shakes as I write this. Your last letter – quick on the heels of another – filled my heart with joy. Edward thought me mad, for I grabbed Rosalie by the hands and twirled her around your study after I'd read your words. (Yes, your study. I know you don't like intruders, but it makes me feel closer to you to be surrounded by your books and things. Please forgive me, my dear.)

This place in Washington sounds perfect. The lushness of the forests, dripping wet with rain; the constant grey skies; the abundance of wildlife – surely, this place was meant for our family.

I am puzzled by the Indians, though; these Quileutes, as you call them. I sensed that there was more to them than you wrote in your letter. Perhaps when you are back with us you can share the full story of your encounter with them. And do you think there will be enough doctoring to keep you busy? I would hate to see your gift squandered in the wilderness.

I know I exaggerate. I am sure it is perfectly civilized. It just sounds so far away, so foreign. But perfect, nonetheless.

I must rush to make sure this makes it to the post today. Even so, I am not sure if this will reach you before you have made our arrangements and begun your journey home. If it does, and you can, be sure to ask the workmen for an extra large pantry (for appearances) and to plot out a flower bed for me.

I love you!

Esme

p.s. I nearly forgot! I think I got a peek at what our Rosalie must have been like, before her change, the other day. The three of us were on a walk along the falls – it was dark, but the moon was full. Acting strangely, Rosalie went to the edge of the falls, teetering as if she would go over the brink. Edward and I were concerned, of course. Edward spoke gently to her, afraid she was going to attempt to hurt herself in vain. He edged close to her, moving ever so slowly so as not to frighten her. When he was at her side, she quickly turned and before either one of us knew what she was doing, she'd grasped him about the shoulders and heaved him over the edge into the river! I hadn't even a moment to snap my jaw, which had dropped in disbelief, closed, when she then jumped over the falls herself with a great whoop! Edward was miffed with her afterward (you know how he hates being made to play the fool, especially when his _quickness_ has been shown up), but her golden eyes sparkled with glee at having tricked him, so I was pleased. If only she would be this hearty every day. Her spirits ebb and flow like the seas. At least she has these moments of brightness, which bring me hope. She must have had a strong will and good spirits before her tragedy befell her, Carlisle. I pray we will see more of both, and soon.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Hello, friends! Thank you all for the lovely reviews and messages. Here is a little missive from Carlisle; hope you enjoy it. In the absence of a beta reader, I may have made a few factual errors, though I sincerely hope not... Next up, Rosalie:)**

Mrs. Esme Cullen

1234 Plainview Lane

Rochester, New York

May 12, 1935

Dearest Esme,

You have always amazed me with your perceptiveness – but to pick up on something subtly conveyed – unknowingly, by me, the unwitting writer – in a letter, is simply remarkable. And so I sit, pen in hand, to write to you of this Indian tribe about which you were curious.

The Quileute Tribe has lived in this area for hundreds of years, from what I have been able to gather. They are fishermen, mostly, with a reputation for wisdom and a fierce protectiveness of their lands and each other. Although their settlement here predates the Federal government's persecutions, the general campaign to restrict the native population throughout the West has constricted their holdings into a formal reservation. As they were not really wanderers, nor hunters, this reservation has meant practically nothing, but it has driven a deeper wedge between them and the local citizenry. They keep mostly to themselves.

A few of the locals have struck up a sort of trade with them, though, and it was through these few that I became aware of their presence. Mr. Owens, who runs the local tavern, told me several tales about one man in particular, who supposedly held great healing powers. Naturally I was very curious. I asked if I might meet this man and Mr. Owens just shrugged, telling me that no one could stop me from going to the reservation but commenting no further.

Needless to say, I set my mind on at least observing the tribe. I suspected I'd be able to pick out the supposed healer and perhaps negotiate to learn his practices; and so, one day, I set out to find the reservation. The road to it is not really a road; it is more of a path, rutted and muddy from the regular rains. It looked to me like a scar upon the green earth. As I was alone, I chose to stray a bit from the path, running unfettered between the tall pines, free in the knowledge that no one would see me here.

As I plunged deeper into the woods, I began to catch whiffs of an odd scent. It stung my eyes and assaulted my nose. More disturbing, it seemed to taunt me with its familiarity. I couldn't place it. Just when it seemed it would reveal itself to me, the scent would fade away, leaving me frustrated with my inability to recall it. But I did not let the strange scent deter me from my task, and headed ever deeper into the woods.

Eventually the woods began to thin and the dirt underfoot became sandy. I was approaching the beach. Keeping to the shadows, I found myself on the crest of a bluff that towered above a small village. The gray timber of the houses below betrayed the battering they must take from the wind and rains off the sea. Nonetheless, they seemed cozy and well cared for. I knew immediately I had found the Quileute settlement. I stood watching them from the tree line, confident that the cloudy skies and my distance would keep me from anyone's sight. The entire village seemed to bustle with activity.

A knot of people kept forming around one man who sat in front of his house on some sort of bench. The crowd kept breaking and reforming as one thing after another was seemingly brought before this man. I began to suspect that this might be the chief, or the healer whom I sought. My curiosity was about to get the better of me – I yearned to get a closer look at this great man. I was lifting my foot to step out of the trees, when the Chief – for that was who he was – lifted his head and inhaled deeply. With a sharp, penetrating look, he wheeled his dark eyes toward the bluff, and I felt a shiver of apprehension, for it seemed to me that he looked straight at me. I ducked back behind a tree. I knew my fear was unwarranted, but I could not shake the feeling that he had detected my presence, so I determined to go back and return another day.

Two more times I returned and had similar experiences. Yet there was something that drew me to this man. I wanted to know the mysteries he had mastered, and the puzzle of the strange, offensive scent kept tugging at my memories. So a third evening, at dusk, I stole my way to the bluff once again.

This time, he was waiting for me, the stinging smell from the woods swirling thick about him.

His long, black hair whipped about his face in the wind. His mahogany skin glowed in the waning light, crumpling into deep ravines of disapproving wrinkles as he grimaced. I felt I was in the presence of something majestic, and worse, I felt I had somehow wronged him. A wave of vague shame washed over me as he stared at me with undisguised disgust.

"You have been watching us."

I nodded slightly. He stared at me in silence, waiting for me to move, I supposed. But I sat stone still, wracking my brain to identify that infernal smell.

"It has been a long time since a Cold One has walked among us. I had hoped to have left this earth before another came into our midst."

Shock rippled through me. He knew of our kind! He knew what I was!

Panic jumbled my brain. How could he know? His dark eyes were inscrutable, but it was clear to me that he had suspected my presence from that very first day, when he'd sensed me on the bluff.

Far worse, he probably thought I meant them harm. How could I convince him otherwise? I struggled to think clearly, the horrible stench constantly assaulting my faculties, when suddenly a jolt of recognition screamed through my feeble mind and all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. I realized this was no mere human. The sickening smell that seemed to come off of him in waves was one I'd encountered before, just in different form, in the hills above Rome.

It was the stench of a werewolf, and it was oozing out of the pores of this fierce man.

Dead calm settled over me as I realized the danger I was in. The soft edges of twilight suddenly came into sharp focus. I did not want a fight, but this being might very well have wanted to destroy me.

I thought to reason with him. "I am not like other Cold Ones," I began, waiting to see his reaction.

He eyes me skeptically, beginning to circle.

"You smell like a Cold One," he answered, never moving his eyes from me.

"You fear I mean you harm," I stated – there was no question in my mind that that was, indeed, what he thought.

He scoffed, coming to a standstill, quiet pride rippling through his immense body. "I fear nothing. We were made to destroy you."

I held my hands in the air, a gesture of peace. "I do not seek your kind. I am not like other Cold Ones," I repeated softly. "I hunt the animals of the forest, and only them."

For the first time, his face betrayed him. Surprise danced behind his eyes as he took in my words. He looked past my shoulder, searching. There were others with him, and they were coming closer, behind me in the woods. I could smell them. He brought his attention back to me, shaking his head.

"I don't believe you."

I could hear them coming, these Indians. Though they moved in stealth, they betrayed themselves against twigs and the feathery soft branches of the trees. They were there, behind me, and the cold look in the Chief's eyes told me that they had already planned what to do with me.

So then, dear Esme, I did what I thought I must. I lie down on the sandy bluff and spread my arms and legs out in acquiescence, closing my eyes as I spoke.

"I swear to you, I will not hurt you, nor any of your people. I am here in peace, as a doctor, to learn of your medicine."

I braced myself for what I thought would be an onslaught of slavering wolves, but instead there was silence. The waves crashed below us, and somewhere, an owl hooted to its mate.

Muttered words flew across the bluff, cutting in and out of the whines from the wolves. I could understand neither the native Indian language, nor the whines, but the words sounded sharp. I kept my eyes closed, not daring to tempt fate.

The smell of the wolves became almost unbearable and I felt an intense, radiating heat as the animals came close upon me. A cold nose poked at me. I didn't move. The nose poked again, insistent.

I cocked one eye open, afraid of what I'd see.

There were two animals, enormous, lean and fierce, standing between me and the ageless Indian. The larger of them bared his teeth and growled. The man cut him off with a cold stare.

"Your eyes," the man stated. "They are yellow."

"From the animal blood," I answered back, keeping my voice steady. I could not show weakness.

The man nodded slowly, contemplating this new information. He looked down at the wolves and spoke under his breath, rapidly. One of the animals whined, his eyes seeming to plead with the man who clearly was his master.

The man ignored him and, to my surprise, stepped past the wolves and reached down to offer me his hand.

"If you are a hunter of animals, show us."

And so, Esme, I bared myself to them. They ran with me as we sought the chase – such grace! Such strength! What beauty can be found in something we have been taught to dread. I will have to describe them to you more fully when I I return to Rochester. I took down a deer and proved to them that my blood lust had been tamed. I let down my guard, knowing that in the thrall of the kill I would be vulnerable to their attack, but knowing equally well that if I did not prove to them that I was different, my existence might be forfeit anyway. When I had drained my prey, I looked up again, cognizant of their presence, to see their faces – stunned at what they had seen; amazed and more than a little disgusted.

Afterward, they huddled away from me to argue. They hid their metamorphosis from me, but I heard the shift from growls and barks to human language. I don't really know, but I can only presume from the sharp tones and angry looks that passed between them that they were very split about what to do with me. The council – for I believe that is what it was -- went on into the night, until finally the heated argument gave way to grunts and quiet speaking.

Grudgingly, the other men melted away into the night, leaving me alone with the Chief. Against the better judgment of the younger men, this wise man let me go, but not before he told me the story of the tribe's first encounter with our kind. I also learned their pack forms only in response to our immediate presence, so when left undisturbed, the pack dwindles; these two men were the only ones who could take on wolf form at this time. Perhaps that was why they let me go – maybe they were afraid I would be able to win an outright fight. As for the Chief, I seemed to sense that he respected that I had mastered my nature. Perhaps it was something he, too, had struggled with as a youth.

I was amazed at the reasonableness of this man – to let that which he'd been raised to consider a mortal enemy go. I am not insensible to the risk that we may face in being so near to them, but since they remain so isolated, their wolf natures mostly dormant, and he so free of prejudice, I am convinced that this still remains the best place for us to move our family. I have half a mind to negotiate a formal peace with them, pledging us to stay out of one another's way. We should discuss it with Edward when I return; I will need his abilities if we are to negotiate such a delicate matter.

And so I come, finally, to my return. The legal matters have all been settled. Our house is already half built. I think you shall be pleased with its spaciousness and isolation. We have set aside several places for your flowers; we are close upon the river, and an immense tree line sits beyond us, sheltering us from prying eyes.

I will take the trains back East until I come to Chicago, where I will regain my automobile for the final leg of my return. You may expect me within two weeks. We can take as much time as we'd like in our preparations, of course, but can leave as early as a month from now if we are ready. Our house should be finished by then.

For Edward, this will be an easy transition. I hope it will be for Rosalie, as well. She may welcome the opportunity to leave Rochester behind. Does she seem better? Her episodes of melancholy less frequent? It is a good sign, I think, that she is engaging in pranks with Edward. I do not believe it signals a change in their attitudes toward one another – this play is simply that, play; not a softening of resistance into love. But it is good, nonetheless, for it means her spirit is returning. As for Edward, I am proud of him for being so tolerant. I know this has been hard on both of you, and I love you all the more for it.

Please know that you are always in my thoughts. I love you dearly, and cannot wait to be reunited with you and our little family.

Carlisle


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: I am so sorry it is taking me so long to post... My project at work has been a killer (70 hour weeks + weekends) so between that and the kids, I don't have much time to write these days. But summer vacation is coming, so hopefully I will have more for you soon. In the meantime, thank you for all the wonderful messages and reviews, and thank you for your patience. I had no beta reader for this chapter, so please let me know (as you always do:) if you find any errors.**

It was summer. The endless cycle of crickets chirping outside my window was an annoying reminder of my boredom and the frustration that only grew with every passing day.

I gripped a pillow over my head and turned over on the bed, hoping to tune out the hum.

Carlisle had been home for two weeks. Esme nearly glowed with happiness whenever he was near, and her beauty grew in the reflection of his love. It was a lovely thing to witness, yet every time I saw them together I experienced a stab of jealousy, which only made me feel worse for begrudging them their happiness.

How could I go with them to Washington? I knew I couldn't stay here, but their familiarity with one another – the way he would casually brush her fingertips as he passed her, the knowing looks they sent one another….I couldn't stand it.

Edward's presence made it worse. Esme made no secret of her hope that Edward and I would choose each other's companionship. The very idea was laughable; we were so obviously ill-suited for one another. But his presence, coupled with the fact that it would never work, was a constant reminder of my lonely destiny.

I flopped over with a sigh.

If I didn't go to Washington, and I couldn't stay here, what would I do?

_You can survive on your own_ , I thought to myself. _You proved that when you went to Georgia. It probably doesn't matter where you go._

I knew what I needed to do. I'd known it for days, and had spent endless hours humming tunelessly in my mind to keep Edward from knowing what I was thinking about. But I couldn't just sneak out on Esme and Carlisle. Besides, as soon as I really focused on it, Edward would know what I was up to and tell them before I was even out the door. Not that they would try to keep me here. It would just make things more...difficult.

I rolled off the bed and floated over to the mirror. I stood before it, coolly appraising my looks, an old habit I'd not been able to break. If I had been pretty before, I was undeniably beautiful now. My body seemed to have softened, my skin looked impossibly dewy, and my hair fell in perfect curls around my face. I frowned at my reflection – what good had my looks ever done me, anyway? Besides, the delicate façade was just that – a façade. I lifted an empty perfume bottle off the vanity and closed my grip around it. In an instant, sand trickled through my closed fingers. I smiled grimly, even as the chemical residues that had clung to the insides of the bottle, released when I crushed it, stung my nose. No, beauty was nothing but a curse.

I brushed the sand from my hands and looked into the mirror again. I worked my face into a blank look, smoothed my hair and straightened my skirts. It was a look of complete neutrality, a look of determination, devoid of any emotion. With a sigh, I turned away. There was no sense in delaying any longer. It was time for me to tell Esme and Carlisle my plans.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They were waiting in Carlisle's study. Carlisle sat at his desk, a large atlas open before him. He ignored my entrance, continuing to trace a route with one long, elegant finger. Esme sat on the sofa with her knitting. She smiled when she saw me, but there was something off about her smile. Edward, usually so graceful, slouched in a corner. He looked up, awkwardly meeting my gaze. His gold eyes blazed with something I'd never seen in him before – guilt.

I made a face and shot him my most acid look. _Tattletale_ , I thought. He looked away hastily, feigning interest in one of Carlisle's many medical volumes.

"You all need to work on your 'act natural' routine," I said curtly.

Carlisle closed the volume and folded his hands neatly on top of it. "I understand you have something you'd like to discuss with us," he said quietly, his eyes searching mine.

"Tell, not discuss," I answered quickly, afraid to give any ground.

Esme's brows made a sharp V but she didn't say anything; she simply pursed her lips unhappily.

"Very well," Carlisle said, gesturing to the lone empty chair near his desk. "Why don't you sit down and tell us what is on your mind."

I hesitated. I didn't want to appear ungracious, but I was afraid that Carlisle's kindness, or Esme's sadness, might sway me. But I had faced worse than this before. I took my seat and began, lifting my chin slightly to gird my confidence. Gathering my thoughts, I began.

"I understand why you have to move. It has been a while since you came to Rochester and time you moved on. And I understand why I need to move – I'm too recognizable here; I need to be somewhere where I can at least attempt some sort of… existence.

But I think the time has come for us to part ways. I appreciate all you have done for me, but I think it is for the best that I not accompany you to Washington."

Esme's chin quivered, her eyes full of hurt. "But why, Rosalie? Are we so horrible that you can't bear to be with us?"

"No, Esme, that's not it at all!" I was mortified that she would think such a thing. "You're wonderful."

I looked around at each of them. Carlisle, so serious and understanding. Edward, annoying but well-intentioned. And Esme. Of any of them, she had come the closest to truly understanding how I felt. How ironic that she couldn't understand now.

I struggled to find the words to explain my decision.

"You've all been wonderful to me. But I am still an outsider."

Esme opened her mouth to protest, but Carlisle's soothing voice interrupted her before she began. "Let her speak, Esme."

Esme sank back, resigned, against the sofa cushions, allowing me to continue.

"You have taken me in and done all you can for me. You protected me from myself, and for that, I will be eternally grateful." I smiled bitterly to myself, turning the word _eternity_ over in my head. "But I'm alone. I don't feel the companionship that you have with one another." I looked to Carlisle, then back to Esme. Dropping my eyes to my hands, I continued. "I cannot bear to be around you, knowing I will never have what you have."

Esme nearly jumped out of her seat. "But you can, Rosalie!" She burst out, her delicate fingers forcing my chin up, willing me to look in her eyes. They sparkled with a kind of desperation. "You can be – you _are_ -- a part of this family, just like Edward."

My lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Edward came before you, Esme. He will always have his place. It's not the same for me. Besides," I added after a pause, "it isn't the same as what you and Carlisle have."

A defeated look stole across Esme's porcelain face. She still cupped my chin in her hands. "You must come with us."

"I can't," I answered in a whisper, peeling her fingers away to hold them in my hands. I met her gaze. "I need to learn to live on my own."

"Where will you go?" Esme asked miserably.

I paused. I hadn't really any idea, but I knew that any indecision on my part would just give her another opening. My mind reeled, grasping for any idea.

"Tennessee," I blurted, saying the first place that came to mind.

"Tennessee?" Edward repeated, his lips twisting. From his amused look, I could tell he knew exactly what was going on.

_Don't ruin this for me, Edward,_ I thought.

"Why Tennessee?" Edward pressed, leaning casually against the bookcase, stifling his grin as he watched me squirm in my chair.

I smiled coolly, grateful that I had no telltale heart, no sheen of sweat, to give away my nerves as I lied. "When I rode the train to Atlanta, it seemed like a lovely place."

Edward grinned broadly. "You hung outside the boxcar looking at scenery, did you?"

Inwardly, I cursed my stupidity. "Of course not," I said quickly, staring at him. _Let it be, Edward._ "The man I met – you remember, the man who knew all about Atlanta – he spoke a bit of it. And there are mountains there, with lots of woodland – aren't there, Carlisle? It will have good hunting."

"Yes, it will," Carlisle answered, but he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. He seemed distracted. Without another word, he flipped open the atlas, turning the pages so rapidly they'd have been a blur to any human watching. An idea seemed to be dawning on him – I recognized the look of excitement that came upon him whenever he thought he'd discovered the answer to a difficult problem.

"Perfect," he said triumphantly, letting a page fall open.

"Not a bad idea, Carlisle," Edward concurred from his corner.

I frowned, annoyed with silent conversation. "What?"

"It will only be for a little while, of course," reasoned Carlisle.

"Of course," purred Edward, enjoying my irritation.

"Will you two please let the rest of us in on your plan?" I demanded, crossing my arms.

"It makes perfect sense," Carlisle began, turning to me as if he anticipated an argument. "The hunting in Rochester hasn't been exactly challenging," he reasoned.

"Indeed." Edward's dry tone needed no explanation. Deer and pigs were hardly difficult prey, but Rochester, despite its woods, had little else to offer anymore.

"The hunting in Washington will be much more difficult," Carlisle continued, looking smoothly from Edward to me. I still couldn't fathom what he was thinking. From the look on her face, I could tell Esme had no idea what he was getting at, either.

"And so?" I made no attempt to hide my impatience.

Carlisle broke into a large smile. I could see why he was so popular with his patients. With those good looks, he could probably convince people to drill holes in their heads to let out evil spirits if he wanted to.

"And so," he continued, "we will need to hone our hunting skills. We can't afford to be messy in our new surroundings, especially with the Indian tribe already wary to our presence. We'll need to practice," he declared triumphantly.

I felt the floor sinking away from me as the light of pure joy filled Esme's golden eyes.

"No," I began weakly, knowing I'd been bested.

"Oh, Carlisle, it's perfect!" Esme exclaimed, rushing over to fold me in her arms. "We'll take Rosalie to Tennessee and help settle her in while we get used to the big game!"

"But…" My protest caught in my throat as she held me tight. As much as I needed to be alone, I couldn't bear fighting against something that brought Esme so much happiness, especially when I saw Edward looking at me with warning in his eyes.

_It will only be harder for her when I refuse to leave Tennessee with you_ , I thought, pleading with him in my head.

He shook his head slightly, so only I could see.

I tried to catch Carlisle's eye, silently willing him to change his mind, but he was gazing with satisfaction at Esme. There was no way he would take away her happiness now, not when he'd so easily delivered it.

Beaten, I sagged into Esme's arms.

"All right," I sighed, grudgingly. "But only until you've each made a clean kill."

Esme beamed, her eyes searching my face with motherly concern and uninhibited relief.

"Who knows, Rosalie, maybe you'll change your mind. Maybe it's just a change of scenery that you need," Esme said, her sweet voice tinkling like bells.

I groaned, knowing how much harder it would be to leave, now that they'd managed to delay our separation for just a little longer.

_I can always run away_ , I thought as Edward watched Esme pull me tighter.

He snorted back a chuckle.

Piqued, I stuck out my tongue, which only made him laugh out loud. It was so unfair. I'd get him back for this, if it was the last thing I did. In the meantime, I'd need to prepare myself for Tennessee.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: So, back from vacation, refreshed and recharged, little ones tanned and exhausted from the beach, and -- Ta dah! -- two new chapters for you. A few steps closer to Emmett:) Thanks to all who keep reading and writing even though I have been super slow to update; I hope you enjoy these chapters.**

Carlisle had consulted his atlas and plucked the town of Cleveland, Tennessee off the map as our destination. It was logical enough. The town was close to the Appalachian Mountains and ran up against a gigantic, unspoiled forest – sure to be good hunting.

I'd rolled the fat, solid name around in my head – Cleveland. The place I'd unwittingly chosen as my new home. Instinctively, I'd hated it.

As the Packard wound its way through the foothills I knew I'd been right. Every town we passed was like a picked-at scab upon the earth, crusty and festering with some unknown infection. Shacks huddled closely together, turning their backs on the oppressive wilderness about them. Everything was dirty, even the little children who clung to their mamas' skirts, peeking out to see who was going by in the shiny new car. As for the mothers, their eyes were glazed, empty of hope or expectation.

We saw no men. Had they left behind these places that were barely towns, in search of work? Or were they sleeping off the excesses of the night before?

The long stretches of wilderness between towns were choked with vines and trees that threatened to overtake the roads. We opened the windows for air, but the humidity was stifling. The silver lining was the constant haze, which enabled us to move outside without regard for the sun.

"Beautiful, eh Rosalie?" muttered Edward, who was sitting next to me in the back seat. I didn't have the energy to answer him.

Cleveland was a bit better. Or maybe my standards had lowered themselves after the monotony of the tiny grey villages we'd passed through to get there. It had a real town square, and buildings made of brick. There was a church with a graceful steeple etched against the sky. A general store proclaimed itself as the place to receive "Information about the World-Famous Spring Water Cure."

At first glance, the buzz of activity seemed to give the place an air of prosperity. But then I noticed that the carefully parked cars were old models, pocked with rust. A Chevrolet truck had been jerry-rigged with a Ford tailgate, patched together to keep it working. The women walking the street looked dull and dumpy, their shapeless clothes thin from too many washings. And even the men in suits walking quickly across the street bore the tell-tale signs of hardship I recognized from my train-hopping days – worn soles, threadbare elbows, lines of worry etched deep in their faces. Every other store bore the sign "CLOSED FOR BUSINESS." Those that remained had careful, hand-lettered postings declaring, "No Credit."

The Depression had come to Cleveland, too.

Carlisle eased the car up to the general store. We were posing as tourists, seeking a cure for my persistent and mysterious lung ailment.

"I can hardly pass for unhealthy, Carlisle," I'd protested, hating to think of myself being forced into the waters with all manner of humans.

"You are awfully pale, Rosalie," Carlisle had said with a twinkle in his eye. "And humans believe what they want to believe. What could be more compelling than the story of a beautiful woman, wasting away at so young an age? The local townspeople will eat it up. Besides, if the cure works, you'll have a built-in excuse for staying behind and making Cleveland your home."

I looked around the pokey little square and a wave of doubt came over me. How could I ever want to stay in this place? Let alone pass for one of them? At least in Rochester, Esme and Carlisle had been able to carve out a little piece of Rochester society in which they could belong. How could I ever belong in this place, where the biggest thing they'd ever see was the annual church picnic?

"You can always come with us to Washington, you know," Edward murmured, never turning his head.

Carlisle saved me from having to answer.

"This is where they said the keys would be," he said, looking out at the general store. "I'll be right back."

Esme turned in her seat, her eyes shining. "Isn't it exciting, Rosalie? A whole new place, a fresh start. We should have done this ages ago."

I smiled weakly. "It is certainly going to be a change of pace."

"Indeed, it will be, Sis. I can't wait for us to take you to the waters so you can meet some of the locals." Edward smiled like the Cheshire Cat and I groaned at the thought.

**XXXXXXXX**

The house was well outside the town. It had been the summer retreat of a wealthy family from Chattanooga, abandoned after the Crash. Vines and weeds had overtaken the place, but underneath it all, the house had fine bones – stately and well-proportioned. It was just the thing for Esme.

"It won't take us long to clean it up," she'd stated, lost in her visions of gardens and porch swings.

She was right. The haze never let up, enabling Carlisle and Edward to work hours on end, hacking away at the lush jungle outside our door. Esme and I filled buckets full of soapy water and set about scrubbing away the layers of dust and dirt that had accumulated inside the house. In every room we discovered some new delight – exquisite moldings, four inches deep, along the hall; silk panels from Japan, barely damaged from moths, on the dining room walls; a collection of books that almost rivaled Carlisle's in the smoking room. The deep porch that wrapped around the house had a full row of rocking chairs; once Carlisle and Edward had finished their work, you could see clear down the mountain.

It struck me as odd that the people who owned the house had just abandoned all these things, but then again, that was exactly what we had done with our things in Rochester. Was someone going through our rooms there, wondering what had become of us, too?

After we'd drawn the last sheet off of the furniture and rubbed the chandelier bright, we allowed ourselves a break, sitting on the porch to admire the men's handiwork.

The house itself was free of all the green stuff that had climbed up its walls. Now it sat squarely in the middle of what was supposed to be a yard – the grass would need to grow back in before it would be a real yard. They'd uncovered a tiny garden plat. It had been overtaken by weeds, but now was cleared and the soil turned over, awaiting Esme's care. With the weeds pulled, we could see that the gravel drive was actually designed in a pattern, a giant fleur-de-lis laid out in contrasting pebbles right in its center. All in all, the effect was that of a tiny island of civilization in the middle of the wilderness. It was simply grand.

As for Edward and Carlisle, they were a sight, covered head to toe in dirt. I'd never seen either one of them looking so disheveled. Somewhere along the way, they'd stripped out of their shirts – both of them were magnificent. I closed my eyes and imagined what they'd have looked like if they'd been human, a slight sheen of sweat outlining each muscle. I couldn't help but admire their perfection.

Esme laughed out loud as the men approached the porch. "You look like vagabonds, the both of you."

Carlisle jumped over the rail and swept Esme into his arms, kissing her deeply. When they broke off their kiss, they locked eyes, communicating in a way that I still couldn't understand. I felt like an intruder, but I couldn't drag my eyes away from them.

"Welcome home, Esme," Carlisle whispered, kissing her tenderly in the hollow beneath her ear.

He then swept her into his arms and carried her over the threshold into the house, leaving Edward and me to sit awkwardly on the porch, staring at our hands.

We had nothing really to say to one another. I guarded my own thoughts jealously, unsure of how he might use them against me. At the same time, I was dying to know what he thought of Esme and Carlisle's ardor, but I was too embarrassed to ask and mortified that he should glimpse the curiosity inside my head.

So we sat in silence. Eventually, dusk turned to night and the cooling breezes of the mountainside picked up. Eventually, Edward got up and walked out into the woods behind the house.

I was alone, again.

I sighed, relieved to let down my guard but lonely, nonetheless_. _

_We can move all we want, but it will never change things_ , I thought as I gave the porch swing a kick and stared into the starry night. _Just like the stars. Nothing will ever change._


	30. Chapter 30

The days following were misery for me, every day a new humiliation as we laid the groundwork for our "family history," as we'd come to call it.

As soon as he could arrange it, Carlisle took me to the spring waters for the cure. Esme produced a ridiculous bathing costume for me. I hated how I looked in it – the lily-white skin of my neck and shoulders was too noticeable; the curve of my chest and hips too prominent. The nautical strips and floppy bow seemed to mock me with their gaiety.

I hesitated at the foot of the stairs, willing the Packard to have mysterious flat tire so I wouldn't have to go. Edward had watched me descend the steps and now his brows made a sharp V as he watched me cling to the banister. He disappeared and returned in an instant.

"I think a proper young lady would wear her dressing robe to the spring," he said kindly, proffering his right arm, which was draped with a cotton garment.

I reached out slowly to take the soft robe in my hands.

"Thank you," I said, unable to voice all my worries, nor the full extent of my gratitude for his unexpected kindness.

He took my arm to guide me to the car, giving my elbow a squeeze as he guided me into the back seat.

"I wouldn't want any of the local young men to get the wrong idea about my sister," he said, winking.

I pondered his kindness all the way to the spring. Edward alone knew how torn I was about the whole enterprise. I knew this was a good way to establish my reason for being in Cleveland, but having to play helpless…it didn't sit well with me.

Even more embarrassing was Carlisle's gentle suggestion that I play up the "meeker side" of my personality. He might as well have said, "Invalids don't make scenes, Rosalie." So there I sat, pretending to be nearly immobilized by shortness of breath while every particle of my stone-cold being was screaming to run away from this horrible charade. _At least I didn't have to fake my horror at being seen in this bathing costume_ , I thought, harrumphing to myself and sinking lower into the back seat.

Finally, the car rolled to a gentle stop. The door swung open and Carlisle picked me up, carrying me in his arms into a plain building labeled "Medical Offices." We hadn't even crossed the threshold when I was assaulted by the overwhelming antiseptic smell. It was laced with a musty odor and the unmistakeable scent of human blood – tangy, bitter iron. I'd known there would be humans here, but it had been a while since I'd been so close to any; the lure of the scent caught me by surprise. My weakness irritated me. At least it seemed to be only one human.

Carlisle deposited me lightly on a bench in the waiting room.

A young man was standing behind a desk. He turned as to face us as we came in, unleashing a fresh waft of his scent. In a second, I'd taken him in. Under his doctor's coat he wore carefully pressed pants, a starched shirt and tie, even in this heat. He obviously cared about his appearance, but his shirt bore a tell-tale scorch mark near the pocket. He couldn't afford someone to do his laundry, nor a new shirt. His skin looked sallow, a thin sheen of sweat doing nothing to enhance its appearance. The shadow of a beard was already breaking through. The contrast with Carlisle's own polished appearance was great.

As he looked at us, his eyes shone with desperation or greed. He'd not had many patients recently, I'd bet.

"Dr. Cullen," he said eagerly, nearly jumping over the desk to shake Carlisle's hand. "I've been expecting you."

Carlisle smiled warmly. "Dr. Franklin, I presume? Thank you for agreeing to open up the Center for us."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," the young man said, pumping Carlisle's hand. "We've been shut up for too long. I'm glad to have the opportunity to help someone such as your ward."

He glanced over at me, letting his gaze linger. His pupils dilated as he took me in. I heard the pace of his heart quicken and saw his nostrils flare with a look I recognized. My anger rose at his impertinence. Who did he think he was, presuming to look at me that way? Quickly, I dropped my eyes to my lap, reminding myself I was supposed to be sickly and shy. I stopped breathing, blocking his scent and concentrating on my role.

"I trust the paperwork is all in order?" Carlisle's cool voice interrupted and drew the doctor's attention back.

"Yes, everything was fine. I must admit that even though I've seen my share of cases here, I have yet to come across anything quite like this. But I'm sure the waters will do her good, nonetheless."

"We hope so," Carlisle murmured smoothly. "My own ministrations have proven unsuccessful. This is our last hope. So unless there is something else you need, I'd like to get started. She's had a particularly bad morning."

"Of course," the doctor agreed, though as I peeked up through my hair, I could see he was uncomfortable. He struggled for a moment, seeming to weigh his words. Shifting awkwardly on his feet, he mumbled, "There is the matter of the fee."

"Ah, yes. The fee." Carlisle produced an envelope from inside his jacket and extended it toward Dr. Franklin. "I trust this is sufficient?"

The man opened the envelope. His eyes widened as he took in the cash. He tucked the envelope into his own pocket, trying to appear unaffected, but I saw his fingers tremble. "Let me get a wheelchair."

I started to protest, but Carlisle shot me a warning glance. Chastened, I swallowed my words and waited demurely for the doctor to roll an ancient wheelchair around.

Carlisle deposited me easily in the chair while the doctor looked on.

"Allow me," Dr. Franklin said, taking the handles to wheel me about. "We'll go through those doors and follow the long hallway to the pool."

Carlisle led the way, his curiosity getting the best of him as he strode ahead, leaving me alone with the doctor. Dr. Franklin wheeled the chair slowly, hesitating slightly before going over the depressions in the polished white tiles, treating me like I was china. Every now and then, I'd give out a wheezy breath, hoping I was a convincing patient. All the while I could feel his eyes boring a hole into the back of my head. I imagined what he was thinking and my anger grew.

_Do you think you're being chivalrous, escorting a sick girl? Do you think I should be grateful for your attentions? Grasping men like you never even had a chance with me. _

We reached a door and the chair stopped. I waited for him to come around and open the door but he stayed behind me. Uneasy in the silence, I stiffened in the chair.

"Such a shame, a beautiful girl like you taken by illness." He whispered to himself, but each word fell clear, cold and hard to my ears, like pennies on the tile.

I sat still as stone, waiting.

He trailed his clammy fingers over my shoulder, then my collarbone, and up to my neck, where they finally came to rest. I could feel the sweat on his hands through the thin cotton of my robe.

I gritted my teeth together, gripping the armrests of the wheelchair.

"My Uncle will be waiting for us, Doctor Franklin." I barely managed to choke the words out, my voice trembling with anger and shame.

He pulled his hand back slowly, as if with regret, letting one of my curls play about his fingers. "Of course, Miss Cullen."

Swiftly, then, he walked around to prop open the door, proceeding to wheel me over the threshold as if nothing had happened.

When we arrived at the pool, Carlisle was waiting at the end of the ramp that led into the shallows, his sleeves and pant legs already rolled up to help me into the water.

"Oh, look, Franklin, it seems you have a defective wheelchair," he said carelessly as he lifted me out of the chair and into the waters.

We followed his gaze back to the wheelchair. Its shiny metal arms were bent and warped. If anyone had known what to look for, they would have seen it was my grip indelibly molded into the steel.

**XXXXX**

"I won't go back!" I screamed, storming into the house.

"But Rosalie, I don't understand." Carlisle's exasperated voice followed me as he trailed me inside. "Unless you plan to come with us to Washington, we need to establish you here."

I wheeled on him. "As what? A helpless invalid to be taken advantage of?"

"What happened?" Esme appeared in the hall, her features contorted with worry. Edward was at her shoulder. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was trying to hear our thoughts and for once, I welcomed his intrusion. It would save me the trouble of justifying my anger; the embarrassment of having to say out loud what had happened.

His jaw tensed angrily. He turned to Carlisle, his words clipped. "Is this true?"

Carlisle sighed, perplexed and weary from arguing. "She won't tell me what happened. As far as I could see, it went brilliantly. She was the perfect patient. But now she refuses to go back. I don't know how I will be able to explain this about-face to Dr. Franklin. Not to mention coming up with another cover for her."

Edward gripped and ungripped his hands in barely controlled fury. "Her cover?" His voice boomed. "Her cover? Is that all you are concerned with? Franklin _touched_ her, Carlisle. And she sat there, taking it, to protect your precious story. Don't you understand what that would be like for Rosalie? After all that has happened to her, to have to sit there, helpless, while some _human_ –" he spat the word – "pawed her?"

Carlisle was stunned.

"Oh, Rosalie," whispered Esme, her delicate hands floating to her face as she took it all in.

The air was pregnant with silence as we waited for Carlisle's response.

He looked pained as he began to speak.

"I had no idea. Of course, you are right," Carlisle breathed quietly, and the tension fell away. He began to pace, deep in thought.

"Of course you are right," he repeated, sounding surer of himself this time. He cleared the entry in a moment and took my hand in his.

"Rosalie, forgive me. I should have known you would not have changed your mind without good reason. And for this to be what happened…. And just when you have started to seem so…sure of yourself, so self-possessed of late, that I had assumed your human past was no longer…." His voice drifted off as he became lost in his train of thought. The guilt in his eyes was heartbreaking.

He smiled sadly, refocusing on me. "Of course, if I had had any idea this doctor would behave in such a way, we would never have gone there to begin with." He gave a mighty sigh and squeezed my hand. "Now that he has, though, it is of course up to you as to how you would like to proceed."

Edward growled, a low, animal noise that caught me off guard. "He deserves to be punished."

"Edward," Esme reproached him gently, placing a hand on his arm. "That is not our way."

Edward's eyes flashed. Under Esme's touch, he forced his muscles to relax one by one. Sheepishly, he looked at the floor.

"Well, he does."

"Spoken like a true older brother," Carlisle said lightly, the glimmer of a grin at his lips. "But I believe this is Rosalie's choice."

With that he dropped my hand and stepped back, crossing his arms to await my decision.

I sat down on the stairs. The beautiful entrance hall now seemed shabby, as did my dreams of independence, everything soiled by my first real experience of the people of Cleveland.

"They're not all going to be like him, Rosalie," Edward muttered, almost against his will.

I smiled to myself. I may annoy him, but I'd awakened some sort of brotherly feeling in him. He'd probably go out of his way to irritate me later to downplay his reaction, but he'd have to admit it – he actually cared. It was sweet, really. Not quite the blind adoration of my own younger brothers, but sweet, nonetheless.

As I sat on the stairs, it seemed my choices were limited. I could demand that we move again, but we'd only just gotten here. It seemed so unfair to them all, but especially to Esme, who had really taken a liking to this house on the mountain. And realistically, any town that was hidden away enough to absorb creatures like us would probably be as dull and depressing as Cleveland. It wouldn't be that much of a swap.

I could go with them to Washington…but I really didn't think I could deal with the displays of affection between Esme and Carlisle, no matter how subtle they strove to be.

I could keep up the appearances of going to take the waters…but not alone.

"You won't go alone, I'll go with you," Edward said vehemently. "Every time."

"I want to be cured quickly, Carlisle." I looked at him hard, making sure he understood me. "I'll be a walking advertisement for Cleveland's famous spring."

Carlisle nodded, the tension draining from his face. "Fair enough."

"You shouldn't have to go back, Rosalie," Esme demurred, her eyes still tinged with worry. "Just come with us to Washington, we can figure out something there."

"No, my mind is made up," I said, rising to my feet in one swift movement. "I need to find someplace to live. Cleveland might as well be that place."

Esme pursed her lips in disappointment. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," I stated firmly, turning on my heel. I was still in my silly bathing costume and robe. I could almost hear my mother telling me I was going to catch my death of cold. Smiling grimly, I began to climb the stairs.

_I wouldn't mind if you wanted to scare the doctor, Edward, _ I thought as I took each step. _Just a scare, mind you. It will almost be like old times in Rochester._

I looked down to the entry and caught his eye. I might have been mistaken, but I thought I saw him wink again.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Many thanks for your notes and reviews. Enjoy!**

So we settled into a pattern of sorts.

Every day in July I went to take the waters. Edward always accompanied me, glowering at the doctor at every opportunity. He never told me what exactly he'd done to scare the wretch, but whatever it was, it had worked. Dr. Franklin stayed far away from me and let Carlisle and Edward tend to my needs at the pool.

Once a week, like clockwork, Carlisle would re-examine me and find marked improvement in my vital signs. Dr. Franklin was thoroughly confused by my rapid progress, but was too intimidated by Edward and too desperate for Carlisle's money to question anything.

Similarly, every week, Esme and Carlisle made a point of going into Cleveland proper, promenading around the small square and purchasing a quantity of food and dry goods from the general store.

By August I was walking and my cough had disappeared. That was when we began attending services at the local Baptist church, my rapid recovery provoking stares and whispers amongst the churchgoers, who gave all the credit to Jesus. We sat gamely in the pews, letting waves of heat and human scent blood wash over us along with the Hallelujahs.

August was also when I began to learn to hunt big game. For the first time in months I was actually excited about something.

We'd been studying the local species from afar, learning them by sight from the illustrated encyclopedias we'd found on the bookshelves in the house. The books were dated, and we'd no idea how the Depression might have provoked over-hunting by the local mountain families, but if the books were even close to accurate we'd find the great forest plentifully stocked with a wide variety of big animals: moose, mountain lions, wild boar, and great black bears were supposed to stalk the higher parts of the mountainside.

"Wild boar, that should be familiar hunting for you, Rosalie," Edward had snickered, and I'd slammed my elbow into his side.

Carlisle didn't really need to study, but he loved to read about the creatures' habits. He wanted to understand the animals, as if it made hunting them more intellectual than the animal rite we knew it to be. Esme was simply practical about what she learned, and tended to pepper our reading with tidbits gleaned from her own experience.

"How interesting that the bears have a bigger territory here," she'd commented, never putting down her knitting as she listened to Edward reading aloud from the encyclopedia. "I suppose they need more space than those up north because the mountain is less plentiful than the woodlands we were accustomed to. Do you think that means they will be meaner, Carlisle? That bear in Wisconsin was already awfully fierce."

"A hungry animal will do strange things," Carlisle concurred, looking out the window. "It has been a fairly dry season. My guess is it is slim pickings for the bears right about now, and it is getting to be close to denning season. Perhaps we should remain in pairs."

I didn't want to be babysat on the mountain. I had had enough of that already. Between pretending to be sick and Esme's fear of me running away, I was never left alone. The attention was stifling me and I could barely stand the affection that flowed so freely between Carlisle and Esme. But I knew arguing was pointless. I'd find a way around this latest rule; I'd just have to bide my time. Once we'd been given permission to hunt further away, I'd be able to break free.

In the meantime, we roamed the woods behind the house, picking off smaller animals. The white-tailed deer were familiar and easy. Possum were too disgusting to try more than once – I couldn't believe humans actually ate them. Since we could only find small game, we needed to hunt frequently.

Because the humans were hunting, too, we had to be careful. We made sure not to hunt the same area too frequently. We would always be able to sense the humans well before they came near enough to notice us, giving us ample time to move out of their way. Week after week, we made endless loops through the trees, hoping for something more exciting than a black squirrel to cross our paths. Anything to break the monotony.

Every now and then we would come across a little clearing in the woods, a simple log home and dirt yard scratched into the mountainside, and I would allow myself to linger. These people fascinated me. Life in Cleveland seemed hard, but for the real mountain folk, it was even tougher. They scrabbled out their existence, working every day just to eke out a simple meal. Many of them seemed to have large families, packed tight like matches in a box into the tiny cabins.

And yet they seemed happy. At night, when they lit their lamps and settled into the protection of their cabins, they laughed and sang, the merry notes floating up to me where I perched in the trees.

It reminded me of Vera and her family. They had so little and yet, compared to me, they had everything. My mind wandered back to them, back to their little house in Rochester. I'd snuck over to watch them the night before we'd left. Her little boy, cheeks rosy, was chasing fireflies in the summer night, his chubby legs barely able to carry him as he twirled and galloped across the lawn. Vera had laughed, and her husband had swung her in the air, then swooped up the boy in his arms to bring them all inside. The little boy's giggle trickled out the window into the night, my last real Rochester memory.

"It's time to go home, Rosalie," Edward said then, breaking into my thoughts and bringing me back to the Tennessee mountainside. He looked at me curiously.

How many times had he waited for me to come out of a tree and quit spying on someone? I supposed there was no use arguing. Besides, what good did it do me, mooning over some poverty-stricken family in the Appalachians?

"I can wait longer if you'd like. I don't mind," Edward said softly, his golden eyes glowing in the night. "I just don't want Esme to worry. We've been gone a while."

I looked at him and narrowed my eyes. Did he pity me? My anger flared.

"Don't be ridiculous," I snapped as I jumped from the tree, landing in a crouch. I was already running, my skirts wrapping about me, when I called back to him, "Don't keep Esme waiting."


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: I am sorely missing having a beta reader. Which is a lame way of saying I hope this doesn't suck after how long I have kept you waiting for it! I hope you enjoy it...and thanks for all the reviews and messages.**

The hot summer had expired, sighing, into a brilliant fall. For a brief moment the vast forest that surrounded us had flared into an explosion of crimson and gold, and then shed its leaves like an unnecessary coat, leaving stark skeletons to stalk the foothills and up the mountainside until the piney trees crowded them out closer to the summit.

As the season passed, so did our brief celebrity. My miraculous recovery had brought a spate of curious visitors – and some would-be suitors – up the winding road to our home. Usually, they sat dumbly in the parlor, tongue-tied, clinging desperately to the tall glasses of lemonade Esme had offered them. For my part, I pretended to listen to what passed for conversation and spent my time counting the seconds between each drop of condensation off the sweaty glasses. I was polite, of course, but discouraging, and ultimately our magnificence worked in our favor. People grew intimidated, though never able to put a finger on exactly what it was about us that unnerved them. After repeatedly awkward socials and many declined invitations, the locals grew discouraged, or perhaps lost their interest, and finally left us alone.

So, as winter approached, I retreated to the back porch, spending my time gazing at the peaks a mere dozen miles away. And I wandered.

I'd explored every inch of backwoods near us and knew all the places with their funny names by heart: Big Frog Wilderness, Mackey Mountain, Harmon's Den, Bald River Gorge, Sally's Folly, and Thrush Bottom Swamp. Each place was wild and beautiful.

Though I hated the frumpy town of Cleveland, the mountains drew me in ever more deeply. I could imagine my lonely life here. In fact, I was eager for it, after tasting of it what I could in the hunt.

Not that it had started out that way.

The first night we'd gone after big game, we'd gone far up the mountain and Edward had been with me. I'd gotten so absorbed in the chase that I hadn't noticed the dusting of snow on the upper peaks; hadn't noticed that Edward was no longer with me.

After, when I'd finished the mountain lion, my senses were still on edge, but my reasoning was dulled – from blood, or excitement, I knew not. As I started to regain awareness of my surroundings, I saw the blood from my messy kill speckling the snow. I felt the wet snow through my clothes. But I wasn't there, on that mountain. In my mind's eye, I was back on that street in Rochester, left to die. I couldn't hear Edward calling my name. All I could hear was Royce's boozy laugh as he and his friends trudged off in the snow. I crumpled in on myself, trying to hold back the onslaught of memories that I'd kept at bay since leaving New York.

When Edward found me, he sat down beside me in the snow and held my hand until my shaking subsided.

"You're in Tennessee, Rosalie. He can't hurt you. Not ever again."

I kept repeating it in my head, like a mantra. _Not ever again._

_Of course,_ I told myself, _he is right. Who would ever get close enough to be able to hurt me now?_

Later, we came down the mountain in silence, but before we came to the house, I stopped.

"Please, Edward. Don't tell Esme and Carlisle what happened. I don't want them to keep me from roaming alone."

He looked at me, his golden eyes genuinely sad. "Of course, I have to. What if I hadn't found you there?"

I snorted, trying to hide my panic with sheer bluster.

"There's probably no other rational thought for fifty square miles to attract your attention. You'd be able to pick out my blubbering no matter how far away I was. Besides, it would have passed. You know it always does."

He looked at me doubtfully.

I knew my flirtatious methods had no affect on him, so I resorted to abject pleading.

"Please, Edward," I whispered softly. "It is the only escape I have."

And then I opened my mind to him, forcing everything that I'd hidden from him upon him at once.

_In the frosty nights I can pretend that I am alone in the big, stately house on the mountain. I close my eyes and lift my face to the moon. The crystalline air caresses my cheeks and slowly the whispers and sounds from Esme and Carlisle's quarters – sounds that follow me day after day – begin to fade away. A scent – thrilling, sharp – catches my attention and I'm flying through the woods. The focus of the hunt drives everything away. For a fleeting moment, there are no memories of Royce. No ghost pain chasing through my limbs. No brief, loving looks passing between my vampire parents, nor memories of rosy-cheeked babies, reminding me of all I will never have. When I am on the mountain, there is nothing but the pure instinct of the hunt._

_Please don't take that away from me._

Edward winced before looking down at the ground.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned to the house and began drifting away. As he did, I heard him say, so softly that I almost didn't catch it, "I'll talk to them about Seattle."

XOXOXO

After that, a strange silence had settled upon the house. I could tell that Edward was working hard to convince Esme and Carlisle that it was time to go, but any discussion of it melted away the instant I came near. Esme swung back and forth between clingy and hurt. If I had needed any other reason to flee the house, the guilt I felt now provided it.

And so I wandered. Often times I would just lose myself in the beauty of the mountains. I started roaming further afield, sometimes leaving for days at a time. I started paying less and less attention to where I actually was, losing myself in the timelessness of the hills. The chill of fall was late turning to full-blown winter, and the dry summer had left many animals hungry and desperate, still searching for food before winter's cruelty set in. I didn't have to work too hard to find something worthy of hunting. Sometimes it just stumbled across my path.

It was not the life I'd imagined for myself. But it was surprisingly easy. And I was mercifully free from the inquisitive eyes and probing questions that humans – or vampires, for that matter – seemed to bring with them. I was almost, strangely, at peace.

But one day that all changed.

I was running through the woods, soft gray light filtering through the trees, when I heard it, far away.

A human scream.

A rush of scent -- pumping, fresh human blood -- engulfed me. Mingled with it was an animal smell I didn't recognize, like nuts and black earth. Whatever it was, the animal was starving; I could smell it in its blood.

The animal's roar reverberated through the tree. Was it a bear? Was a bear attacking the human?

The human screamed again. My venom started flowing.

I began to argue with myself.

_You shouldn't go near it. What if you're tempted?_

_The human will probably be dead before I get there. Besides, I haven't gotten a black bear yet. I want to at least see if that's what it is…._

My mind continued reasoning with me, but my body had already decided. I was running through the trees again, headed straight for the sounds of the human's pitiful cries.

Even though I was getting closer, the screams were becoming fainter. Mingled in with them every now and then I'd hear a ripe curse.

_A spirited one. It would probably have been better for you, human, if you'd died quickly,_ I thought with regret. _But it won't be long now._

I'd already turned my thought to the bear itself – should I kill it on the spot, or chase it away from the bloody remains of the human? – when I came upon the scene.

The bear was busy mauling whatever it was it had managed to catch. In the darkness of the woods, the beast was a mountain of fur and muscle, heaving and clawing at the thing in its hands. It was facing away from me – an easy mark if I wanted it.

The bear turned, tossing the human like a rag doll so that it landed face down in the dirt. I watched a bead of spittle fly from the bear's snout as it rose on its legs, rippling with muscle, preparing itself to fall upon the human once again.

The human was a bloody mess, but it was still alive. I could hear its heartbeat slowing within its chest, and heard each breath wheezing from its broken rib cage. Fresh blood spurted from a gaping wound in its neck. From the look of it, it was a man; a large one at that.

The smell of blood was too overpowering. I made myself stop breathing.

"God damn," the man choked out as it struggled to its knees. It was facing away from me, clawing at the leaves, trying to get a firm hold so that it could flee. But of course, it couldn't. His body was broken and bruised. He would never leave this place alive.

I watched from behind the trees as the bear swatted him again and he slipped on leaves that were slick with his own blood, tumbling down the bank.

His body rolled over and over itself, until he came to rest face up.

Slowly I sank to my knees, for I recognized his face.

Through the blood and gore that covered him, I saw rosy cheeks and dimples, a shock of dark hair, and an upturned nose. His eyes, blinded with pain, were wide and innocent. It was a broad, grown-up face that, despite the circumstances, still had the impish look of a child. But not just any child.

Vera's child.

A cry caught in my throat as the bear roared in anger. _Not him!_

The man groaned, then laughed out loud as he curled himself into a fetal position.

"I have to warn you, I've just been playing with you up until this point, bear. I wouldn't want you to claim you weren't given a fair chance to leave before I unleash my full powers upon you."

A cough racked his body – he was choking on his own blood -- and then the bear wheeled upon him again.

I wasn't thinking anymore. Like the hunter I was, I crouched and bared my teeth. From deep within me, I unleashed a howl. It soared and grew, filling the space between me and the horrible sight before me, seeming to stop time itself.

The bear froze and turned to me, rising up to its full height and dropping the man to the side. It grimaced, revealing its own yellowing fangs as it growled in return.

For a split second, relief surged through my body. I'd distracted it; the bear had left the man. But then the bear was charging me, and I realized I didn't have much time. The man was about to die, and killing the bear wouldn't change that.

There was nothing I could do that could change that.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews and messages! And so the story continues...**

It seemed like the bear moved in slow motion, its lumbering body rolling toward me in the forest haze. I hissed and darted behind it, putting myself between the animal and the bloody human.

The confused beast kept charging, then frantically pawed the ground, only skidding to a stop when it got caught up in a stand of brambles. It swatted at the thorns as if they were pesky flies, but hundreds of them dug under its fur, drawing blood.

The bear roared in fury, wheeling back on me.

I crouched and growled, waiting to see what it would do. Behind me, the man's heart was slowly pumping rich blood onto the stony ground, each beat draining his life away, each beat that much weaker.

The bear was too hungry to leave its prey, and too confused by my speed to be able to make sense of it.

My frustration was mounting. This wasn't like a normal hunt. The bear was alerted to my presence. It would make it that much harder to take the bear down, require that much more time and effort before it would weaken and die.

Time I didn't have.

I unfurled my body at full speed, throwing myself at the furry mass before it realized what had happened. I grabbed fistfuls of its oily fur, digging deep for flesh, and heaved with all my might.

The bear sailed through the air, landing against a young tree with a crack and crumpling to the ground, unconscious.

Silence fell upon the forest, circling out from us like ripples on a pond. The only sound was the weak fluttering of the bleeding man's heart.

I held my breath.

The bear shook itself awake and whined.

I watched it carefully. It struggled to its paws, nursing one side. It had broken something, but was alive. Whimpering, it dragged itself through the brush, away from us.

I exhaled and turned to the man on the ground.

He was slick with blood. The smell of it taunted me. I forced myself to swallow back my venom and held my breath to kneel down beside him. I reached out a hand to wipe away the blood from his face. The feel of his hot skin under my fingers made me gasp and I pulled my hand back.

I sat back on my heels and stared. Even this mangled, he looked so much like Vera's baby boy. It was uncanny.

Emotions rioted inside me. My animal instincts surged, goading me on to sink my teeth into his shredded neck. The impulse disgusted me, even as it grew stronger. I yearned to cradle him in my arms and keep him safe, but from what? From me? A frisson of fear ran through my body. Was it too late, anyway? Would God have brought me this angel-faced boy, who looked so much like the baby I'd coveted night after night in Rochester, only to mock me?

He moaned as his heart skipped a beat. That extra moment of silence jerked me back to reality, forced me to focus. He was going to die.

_I have to change him_ .

I panicked. I wasn't strong enough. Deep down, I knew that the only reason I'd been able to stay in control when I hunted down those men in Rochester was that no drop of blood had ever touched my lips. Here, with the aroma so strong, I didn't think I would be able to stop myself from drinking deeply once I'd taken the first bite. The smell of it was intoxicating. It was too much.

_Carlisle. Carlisle could do it._

I didn't stop to think about whether he _would_ do it. I made one last gasp for fresh air and gathered the man up in my arms. As I began running through the trees he shuddered and opened his eyes.

His eyes widened and a slow grin crept across his face. "Angel," he whispered, the word itself almost lost in a gurgle of blood, before his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell back into unconsciousness.

I gripped his hot body closer to me. With every beat of his faltering heart, I whispered a prayer. _Please, please, don't let me be too late._


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: I know, I know, I am slow. And you will accuse me of dragging this out...but I hope you like it, anyway:) Happy reading.**

I ran down the mountain, dodging my own thoughts as I did the trees.

_What if I'm too late?_

_What if Carlisle says no?_

He gave a muffled groan against my chest.

_Am I hurting him? Oh, God. The blood._

My venom was flowing so much that I had no choice but to spit as I ran. _Focus_ , I thought to myself. I ran even faster, hoping I wasn't jostling him too much, willing myself to ignore the lure of his scent.

One question kept weaseling its way into my brain, insistent, no matter how many times I pushed it away.

_Why?_

There was no explanation for it. He looked like Vera's son, yes. But it was more than that. He was…innocent. I could see it in his eyes. Spirited, but innocent.

_An innocent man? Ha!_

The thought came from nowhere, ugly and spiteful. _You, of all people, should know there is no such thing._

A whimper escaped me.

_I saw it_ , I insisted to myself. _It's there, in his eyes._

_Think, Rosalie. What sort of a man would try to take on a bear?_

_That proves my point_ , I argued back, feeling pine branches tickle my face like feathers. _No one worldly would ever do that._

_Worldly? You think he's different because he is from this backcountry? He should know better than anyone else how dangerous -- how reckless -- his behavior was. It smacks of over-confidence. Of smugness. He's no different than the lot of them. He's just in tattered overalls. Really, Rosalie. I thought you'd learned your lesson by now._

I winced. _What lesson?_

_He'll only hurt you._

_Don't be ridiculous. He's not going to hurt me!_ My brain was beginning to throb. I was frustrated. _Why would he hurt me? I'm saving him._

_For what?_

I stopped in my tracks.

_What will happen when he wakes up and he realizes what he is?_

_What then?_

I pulled the man away from my chest, cradling him in my arms, and stared.

I hadn't thought that far ahead.

A gust of wind swirled around me in a flourish. He shivered, and opened his eyes just a crack – enough to squint and focus on my face.

"You're still here," he whispered through his cracked lips, the corner of his mouth gently tugging into a half-grin. His lips turned down suddenly as a cough wracked his body. A trickle of blood ran out of the corner of his mouth and I quivered with thirst.

"Don't leave me, Angel. I need all the help I can get just about now. Maybe you can trick St. Peter into letting me in…"

I shuddered, unable to move even after he sank back into unconsciousness.

_He expects to die, _ the voice in my head whispered urgently._ Why disappoint him?_

A haze of anger filled my eyes.

"He doesn't deserve to die!" I shouted. The musical tinkling of my voice was drowned in the wind.

_Did you?_

I sucked in my breath. Shame flooded through me as my memories of that night, barely dulled by time, came rushing back at me.

Furious, I slung the man over my shoulder and began running again. All of my energy went into following the trail. I didn't have much time. I was stupid to have stopped on that bluff. Precious moments were wasting away.

I darted between trees, gulping down fresh air with every stride. _So weak_ , I thought to myself. _So weak to crave his blood_ . His heart stuttered and I began to heave, silent sobs shaking my body.

_What do you want from him, Rosalie?_ The whispered question floated after me as I flew past caves and swamps and trails, my surroundings getting more familiar with each fall of my foot.

I didn't know. All I knew is that I had to save him.

When I emerged from the woods onto our property, the white house, perched so pristine and pure on the hill, seemed alien.

_Rosalie, what have you done?_

I was beyond caring about that voice. I had to save him.

_Edward, if you are there, open the door! Get Carlisle. I need help._

I gave one, mighty leap and cleared the back porch. The door cracked open, but it wasn't Edward who greeted me. It was Esme.

The warm smile that was filling her face froze. She looked me up and down, her eyebrows twisting together, her face contorting. I followed her gaze – my clothes were ripped and I was matted with blood, gore and mud. I stood in front of her, panting. My nostrils flared; here, in the closer confines of the porch, the smell of his blood was almost unbearable.

I couldn't speak. I stared back at Esme, waiting for her to say something – anything -- as I felt the life drain out of the simple mountain boy.

When she finally spoke, it was as if she'd read my mind.

"Oh, Rosalie," she said, the disappointment in her voice unmistakable. "What have you done?"


	35. Chapter 35

I looked into Esme's golden eyes and blinked hard. I didn't know what to say. Instinctively, I pulled the man closer to my chest. He moaned, blood gurgling in his throat, and Esme winced.

"She didn't hurt him, Esme." Edward's brisk voice cut through the tension and he swung the door wide open behind Esme. "She fought off the bear that was attacking him."

Edward glanced at the man and then looked sharply at me, his eyes tight. "You want to save him?"

I nodded mutely.

"Then get inside. You don't have much time."

Esme stood back as I rushed through the door.

The sudden, bright light was disorienting. Everything looked foreign, wrong. I didn't know where to go.

"Carlisle's in the kitchen," Edward said, his voice sounding like it was coming from far away. "He knows you're coming."

I didn't wait for the rest of Edward's explanation. I ran down the long hallway, twisting and turning to get to the side kitchen. I barreled through the door and found Carlisle waiting. A long sheet covered the table. His medical kit lay open. Rags, sheets and coils of rope were scattered about the room.

Carlisle took me in with a glance and sighed deeply.

"Lay him on the table, Rosalie."

I gently deposited the man there. He was sweaty now, feverish. His breath was a rattling wheeze. I lay a cold hand on his brow and his eyes suddenly flew open.

"You're still here," he whispered with wonder. His eyes searched my face. He still showed no fear, no panic or regret.

"I won't leave you," I promised, squeezing his hand carefully.

He smiled and let his eyes flutter closed. My heart gave a little flip.

"I must be dreaming," he muttered to himself as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Carlisle's voice, calm but insistent, dragged me back to the urgency of the situation.

"You're sure about this, Rosalie?"

I looked at him. "Please, Carlisle. He can't die. He can't."

Carlisle's words were understanding, but behind his eyes, I could see the worry. "I can't fault you for wanting to save someone, Rosalie. But I can't help wondering about your…emotional state. Unfortunately, we don't have time to explore your motives for this. We need to act now if he has any chance of surviving. You are absolutely sure?"

He gazed at me intently, waiting for my answer.

The voice in my head was screaming. _Once you do this, there's no turning back! It's a mistake, Rosalie. Don't do it!_

I could barely choke out a whisper. "I can't explain it, Carlisle, but I can't bear the thought of him dying. Please help me."

Carlisle stood, hesitating. As loud as a beating drum, I heard the man's heart thump, then stop. I started to feel the room sinking away from me and slid against the wall.

Finally, we heard another thump, and another as his heart struggled back to life.

I sighed and slumped to the floor, burying my face in my hands.

"Please, Carlisle. I can't do it myself. I don't trust myself with him. You have to help me."

"Very well. But you'll have to help me. We have no time to lose."

I lifted my head and saw Carlisle take one of his surgical knives out. In a flash, he'd cut the man out of his clothes.

I gasped and averted my eyes, but not before seeing the bulge of muscle on the man's well-defined chest and the taut expanse where his narrow waist met his hip. A strange burning feeling spread through me.

"This is no time for prudishness, Rosalie. Tie him down, quickly."

Carlisle tossed me a length of rope and began tying the man's torso down to the table, wrapping the rope around and around, as tight as he could. I stretched the rope out in my hands and went to work on his legs, trying hard to think of anything else but the feel of his soft skin under my fingers.

"Stand back," Carlisle warned.

I watched, fascinated and repelled at the same time as Carlisle dove in to the man's chest and sunk his teeth right above the heart. My venom began flowing again and I cursed my vampire instincts.

Carlisle spun around the table, quickly biting each wrist and ankle. He was entirely focused on the man now, pausing only to spit little bits of blood out of his mouth. He moved like a whirlwind, his face pure concentration.

"I'm going to try something. Maybe this will help ease his pain," Carlisle muttered, more to himself than to me. He drew a long needle and syringe out of his bag, slammed a bottle of medicine into the end of the syringe and flicked it impatiently.

"Morphine," he stated grimly, then plunged the needle in several inches into the man's neck.

"The carotid," I whispered.

Carlisle let a grin break his grim concentration. "You remember. Yes. Hopefully this will circulate in time to make a difference."

When he finished, he looked down at the man. "He's strong. I hope these ropes hold. Hand me that sheet, will you?"

I handed him the sheet, being careful not to look at the man stretched out in front of me. Carlisle drew it over the man and stepped away from the table.

Suddenly, the man grimaced. A tortured cry flew from his lips as he twisted and turned on the table.

I jumped back against the wall, a lump in my throat. Were we too late?

Carlisle watched the man and then eyed his watch. "It's just the venom. We just need to give the morphine a bit longer to work."

"I don't remember it being like this," I whispered as I watched the man writhe. Each cry of pain stabbed at my conscience. What had I done?

"Carlisle, you've got to help him," I begged, panic driving my voice up an octave.

"I've done all I can, Rosalie," Carlisle answered with a frown. "I must have administered the morphine too late. He's just going to have to go through it like the rest of us."

The man screamed. It was different than the screams of the men I'd killed. It reminded me of the pigs I'd slaughtered. I shuddered.

_Stop it._ I waited for Carlisle's response for a second before I realized that I'd only thought the words.

I cleared my throat and gathered my courage. "Stop it," I whispered, and then I spoke again, too loud, too urgent. "You have to stop it, Carlisle! I made a mistake!"

Carlisle stared at me, dumbfounded. His golden eyes seemed to shimmer with sadness. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "We can't stop it, Rosalie. Once we start it we have to see it through."

The man shrieked again, arching his back so far off the table that his muscles strained against the ropes and the table began to tip off balance. The sound of his cries, mixed with the sound of the wooden table legs scraping across the floor, was too much for me. I grabbed my temples and shrank against the wall, whimpering.

"You should go, Rosalie," Carlisle ordered as he bore down on the man, trying to keep him from twisting off the table. "Go clean up. Tell Esme and Edward to close up all the outside shutters to help muffle the noise."

I clung to the wall, unable to move. "But I promised him I would stay with him," I whispered.

"You can come back when you're ready. Please. Go," Carlisle prompted, his jaw tense. It was the closest he had ever come to ordering me to do something; that alone shocked me into obedience. Unable to drag my eyes from the man writhing and moaning on the table, I inched my way along the wall, human speed, until I could back through the swinging door.

As I did, the man's cries followed me.

"Son of a bitch!" he howled, his face contorted.

I closed my eyes, trying to shake the image of the man's tortured visage as I let the door swing shut in my face.

When I opened my eyes, there on the door in front of me, perfectly outlined against the glossy white paint, was a red handprint.

My hand, in blood.

My head spun.

_I hope you know what you're doing,_ the voice in my head whispered.

I didn't answer, but just ran away to find Esme and Edward.

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who keep reading faithfully! Your messages really inspire me:) Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**


	36. Chapter 36

Perhaps Carlisle was trying to spare me the horror of watching the change, but it was of no use. I filled the porcelain bathtub with scalding hot water and plunged under water, over and over again, scrubbing my body with the strongest soap I could find, but I couldn't get rid of the smell of the man's blood. It was everywhere – in my hair, seeped into my diamond-hard skin. It was as if he was a part of me.

And even underwater, I couldn't escape his screams of agony.

What would he say, when he woke up and learned that I was to blame for his pain?

I couldn't face that. I didn't want to face reality at all. I didn't want to look into Esme's concerned eyes. I didn't want Edward poking around in my head, trying to figure out exactly what was wrong with me. I didn't want Carlisle's pity.

Most of all, I didn't want the man to wake up and hate me.

So I stayed submerged, pretending nothing unusual was going on in the kitchen below me, trying to block out every memory – the surge of longing when I'd first seen his face; the raw hunger and rush of venom as I'd carried him down the mountain…

_That's right Rosalie, think of pretty dresses and cotillions. Think of anything at all. Just don't think about what you've done to that man downstairs. And what you _ _almost _ _did to him…_

The water vibrated slightly. More disruption below. It was a good thing there were four of us here to handle him, I thought.

_Not that you're helping matters, hiding out here._

Irritated with myself, I emerged from the water and took a gulp of air, trying to force the memory of his scent from me.

The water had grown cold, but it still was comforting against my icy body. I settled back into the tub, letting my head rest against the rim, like a pillow.

Closing my eyes, I let my mind wander. Who was the mysterious stranger I'd forced upon my family? To judge from his patched overalls, he probably true mountain folk. I'd never seen him before, that was for sure – I would have remembered that face.

_Dirt poor. That's what those overalls meant._

Shame raced through me even before I'd finished thinking the scornful words.

_It doesn't matter_ , I argued with myself. _We have more than enough._

_It's not the money, Rosalie. Think of what he will be like._

A hundred possibilities flashed through my mind, but one image arrested my feverish brain: a sweet fiddle, mournful in the night, and him, gently tucking a younger sister into the big bed that so many of them shared.

And then another: him, wielding an axe against a fallen tree, his overalls slipped down to his slim waist; his bare, bronzed chest sparkling with sweat, revealing every ripple of his muscles with each swing.

And then another: his calloused hands, trailing softly against my skin.

A shudder ran through my body and I felt the same burning that had confused me down in the kitchen, when I'd helped Carlisle tie down the man's naked limbs.

It was longing, and desire…and hope.

_Well, isn't that a pretty picture?_ The voice said snidely. _Country Mouse, City Mouse? Or perhaps Beauty and the Beast?_

Just then, a roar of pain shook through the house. The voice in my head barely paused.

_Only guess who the monster is in your little fairy tale? But you'll never be made whole again with a kiss, will you, Rosalie?_

Livid, I threw the bar of soap against the wall, flattening it and making a dent in the old plaster.

_No, a kiss won't turn back all that has happened to you. But you'll be lucky if it even gets that far. If he doesn't hate you for forcing this life on him, well, once he finds out what happened to you in Rochester--_

"Enough!"I screamed, jumping from the water.

I needed to go downstairs. At least there, I wouldn't be alone with my thoughts.

**XOXOXO**

I stood outside the kitchen door – my handprint now scrubbed away -- bracing myself for whatever I'd find inside. The screaming had suddenly stopped, putting my nerves even more on edge. At least the screaming had become predictable.

When I entered the kitchen, I found things in some strange semblance of order. The man lay twitching on the table, only occasionally straining against the ropes. Esme had washed his body and wrapped him loosely in sheets, so now only the faint smells of sweat and soap were emanating from his skin.

The whole room had been tidied. Gone were the coils of ropes and mounds of sheets. Esme and Edward had taken away the bloody clothes and burned them. The crisp smell of bleach filled the air. If it hadn't been for the gigantic body in the middle of the table, you could almost have mistaken it for a bit of spring cleaning.

Edward and Carlisle were consulting quietly in the corner. Edward acknowledged me with a brief nod.

"We'll probably have three days," Carlisle reflected, his back to me. "He's so big, it may take that long for the venom to work its way through his system."

"That should be enough time to work something out," Edward stated. "Though I'm at a loss as to what it could be."

He looked meaningfully at Carlisle. Carlisle turned quickly to face me.

"Oh, hello, Rosalie. Feeling better?"

I ignored his pleasantries. "What are you talking about?" I demanded.

"We're just planning ahead for our guest's awakening," Edward answered swiftly.

"What do you need to work out?" I pressed him.

"Just a few practicalities, Rosalie," Carlisle answered. "For one, getting him clothes. He's a lot bigger than Edward and me."

"He's a lot bigger than any human I've ever seen," muttered Edward, who seemed annoyed.

"You don't happen to know where he lived, do you?" Carlisle asked hopefully.

I shook my head. "I've never seen him before. I suppose we could go search around the place where I found him."

"Too risky," Edward said dismissively. "They are bound to be looking for him. We can't take a chance on them missing his clothes. Or somehow seeing us. Esme will just have to make him something."

"Make him something?" I eyed him incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"Well, what do you suggest? Marching into the General Store and asking for a pair of extra-large overalls? About so big," he said, gesturing broadly, "just about the size of that missing mountain man? No, _that_ won't attract anyone's attention," Edward snorted as he rolled his eyes.

"I wasn't thinking," I said, taken aback by his edginess. "I'm sorry."

Carlisle put a restraining hand on Edward's arm.

"We just need to be very careful now, Rosalie," Carlisle said gently. "Everyone's suspicion could be raised from this disappearance, and we don't know what his connections are. As newcomers in this area, we might not be trusted."

"But that can't be what you've been puzzling over," I began again, eyeing Edward with suspicion. "Esme sewing him some clothes is not that complicated. And if there's any risk of our discovery, you can listen in town so we have plenty of warning."

Carlisle looked at Edward, who cocked his head to the side.

"No, I don't think that is such a good idea," Edward answered under his breath.

"You know I hate it when you do that," I growled back. "What are you talking about?"

Carlisle looked expectantly at Edward, who just shrugged.

Carlisle began. "You'll remember how strong you were as a newborn, Rosalie."

I nodded impatiently.

"Your friend here will be even stronger. He is unusually large for a human. He's already proven to be quite a handful, just by his reactions to the change."

"Yes," I nodded, still not sure where this was going. "I heard his screams and the sounds of the furniture."

"He almost broke Esme's table," Edward muttered again.

Carlisle ignored the interruption and continued.

"Restraining any newborn is a delicate task. It is especially vital that we are able to maintain control over him should he inadvertently come into contact with the local people."

He paused and shifted his weight. It was an oddly human gesture. He was clearly uncomfortable.

"So?" I asked impatiently.

Edward sighed. "We're not sure we can restrain him, Rose. He's bigger than all of us. It took all three of us to keep you under control, if you remember, and we had the advantage of you having… a goal."

"I don't understand," I said, frustrated that they were dragging this out.

"We haven't come to any conclusions, of course," Carlisle said, his golden eyes betraying his nerves. "But we may need to lock him up in one of the outbuildings until we come up with a better way."

"Even that will probably not work," Edward said, his mind working furiously. "He could tear down any of those buildings in an instant. And the chains will do no good, Carlisle. He'll just break through them."

I hissed at the word _chains_ .

"You are not going to keep him locked up like a prisoner here, Edward Cullen!" I howled. "He has done nothing wrong."

"Now, Rosalie, be reasonable," Carlisle soothed.

"No, you be reasonable! You won't touch him, either one of you. I won't allow it!"

"Won't allow what?" Esme's gentle voice broke into the argument and we all fell silent as she entered the room.

I looked down and realized I'd fallen into a defensive crouch between the man and the others. Ashamed, I straightened and turned to face Esme.

"They want to lock him up, Esme," I whispered, pleading with my eyes for her help.

"To protect him," Edward urged, "and us. He'll be too dangerous."

"Nonsense," Esme said firmly, looking fondly at Edward. "We'll welcome him the same way we did Rosalie. And if he needs some extra care," she continued with a wink, "I'm sure Rosalie will be happy to attend to him."

My jaw dropped open. Phantom heat stole through my body. I touched my cheeks, just to be sure they weren't red with embarrassment.

"Esme," Carlisle began, but Esme silenced him with a look.

"If Rosalie has found a companion, Carlisle, we must do everything we can to make his transition an easy one."

A faint feeling came over me. "But, he's not…I mean, I'm not…"

Esme smiled. "You don't have to explain, Rosalie. It was obvious from the moment you carried him back here. You're in love."

Shock rippled through my body._ It can't be love. I'm not ready!_ I thought, fighting against my climbing panic. _I don't even know if that is what I want. And what if he doesn't want me?_

Trying hard to remain calm, I ghosted to the man's side. He seemed almost peaceful. I placed my cold hands on his brow, letting the heat of his fever draw me back to focus on the present.

_You can't love, Rosalie. Love died for you long ago._

The words stung. I snatched my hands away and folded my arms in front of my chest.

"Don't be ridiculous," I said coldly, keeping my back turned to them all. "I just couldn't stand for the waste of letting that bear kill him. And since I'm the one who brought him here, I feel responsible for him. I won't have him treated like an animal."

There was an awkward pause.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone with him for a while."

No one said anything. I let them drift out in silence, one by one, until I was left alone with my stranger.

He let out a soft moan.

"I'm right here," I whispered, brushing the hair back from his face, settling in to watch over him.

**XOXOXO**

The minutes and hours stole away and melted into days. I sat like a statue beside him, stirring only to wipe his brow with a damp cloth, my nerves taut for any sound, any sign, that indicated he was in pain.

Every cry was an arrow through my heart. I sat, helpless, bearing silent witness to his struggle, oblivious to the comings and goings of Carlisle and Edward as they monitored his progress.

As I waited, my mind kept wandering back over vague memories. One in particular kept returning -- Vera and the night she had kept vigil over her little one, who'd been struck with the whooping cough. Her little house had no indoor plumbing, so they'd carried the little boy over to her parents' in the still of the night, hoping the steam of a bath would free the boy's lungs and he would breathe again. For months afterward, her eyes had been wild with fear if she even thought about how close she'd come to losing him.

How fragile humans were, I wondered… and how vulnerable anyone who loved them.

I felt a surge of emotion as I looked at the stranger laid out on the table. _How can you feel so much for someone you don't even know? _ I chided myself.

No answer came to me. For once, the voice inside my head was silent.

Slowly, the gaping wounds in the man's neck began to knit together. My time was running short. Soon he would awaken.

I began to steel myself, burying my feelings deep inside me. He must never know, I vowed.

Never.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: I've tried to keep this chapter within the spirit of Stephenie's original views of Emmett -- the outtake from Twilight that is posted online, describing his reaction to becoming a vampire in his own words -- is pretty clear:)**

I let my mind wander as I ran the brush through my hair.

He had become so beautiful. By the dawn of the third day, his whole visage had been transformed. He still had the same look about him – the impossibly cherubic appeal in his manly face – but it was somehow more vivid. All the little imperfections had been smoothed away. It was physically painful to take in so much beauty at once. The only thing that I missed was the rosy glow of his cheeks – now, I realized with a lurch of my dead heart, except for after the hunt he would always be ash white.

Carlisle's voice had whispered in my ear, "There's not much longer now." Esme then squeezed my shoulder, leading me away to ready myself.

And now, as I looked in the mirror, I wondered what he would see when he looked at me. Would he recognize me? Would I still be appealing to him, now that he was no longer human?

_You mustn't think of that_ , I scolded myself. _You are here to protect him. Nothing more._

From down below, I heard the sudden racing of his heart as the final stages of his transformation came to pass. There was a heavy thud, followed quickly by the splintering of wood and more crashes that sounded like the heavy kitchen table folding in on itself like an accordion.

In that instant, I could have sworn that I still had a beating heart. It seemed caught, there in my throat, at the thought of the man opening his eyes to his new life.

In a split second everything changed. A cacophony of growls filled the air – one, the loudest, in a voice I did not recognize.

I threw the brush down, cracking the dresser in my haste, and ran downstairs to see what had happened.

I ran past the wreckage of the table to find the man backed into the corner of the kitchen, frayed rope still dangling from his massive body. The buttons on his shirt strained as he shifted warily, crouched low to defend himself against Carlisle, Edward and Esme. He hissed, flexing his hands into fists, his flaming red eyes full of fear and confusion.

The others crouched as well, a solid mass in front of him, unsure of what to do.

"Let me through," I demanded, trying to push through them, but Edward read my mind and swiftly blocked me.

"It's not safe, Rosalie," he said, never turning his back on the man. "He thinks we're a threat."

"He won't think _I'm_ a threat," I hissed, straining against his arm. "Let me pass, Edward!"

Carlisle stood up abruptly. "She may have a point, Edward. Let her through."

Edward paused, then dropped his arm. His body still tense, he stepped aside.

"Carefully, Rosalie," Carlisle cautioned.

I stepped through their line and came face to face with the man. My breath caught as I looked at him. The clothes Esme had hastily sewn for him could barely contain his body. Even though he was crouched, I could see he would stand head and shoulders taller than me. He was perfect and whole. Neither scar nor bruise marked his body. Only the red eyes betrayed what I'd taken from him.

"Don't be afraid," I whispered to him, my voice shaky as I inched closer. I could feel my family's stares boring into my back as they watched my every move. "You're safe here with me."

His red eyes darted around him, confused, before they settled on me. He stared at my face, his eyes searching.

Slowly, I reached out my hand to him.

"I promised I wouldn't leave you. And I didn't," I said. I could hear every second being marked by the clock as I stood, waiting, unsure of what to do next.

"He's remembering you, Rose," Edward whispered.

Even as Edward spoke, the man's muscles seemed to uncoil as the tension drained from him and he stood to face us. A radiant smile of recognition spread across his face.

"Angel!" he cried, rushing forward to grasp my hand in his.

"Ow!" I yelled as he crushed my fingers. "Too tight!"

He jumped back, dropping my hand like he'd been burned. He stared at me, perplexed, as I nursed my hand, and cautiously eyed the others, who'd unconsciously shifted forward to help me.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes dropping to his own hands, which he slowly flexed. He looked up and his eyes were even more confused. "I don't understand. What happened? Where am I?"

Carlisle cleared his throat. "You'd better sit down, son, while we explain."

The man looked around. There was nowhere to sit – every piece of furniture in the kitchen had been broken.

"Why don't we go into your study, Carlisle?" Esme suggested.

"Would you come with me?" I asked the man. He nodded, grinning. "Let me," I said when he went to take my hand again, deftly tucking my arm under his to lead the way.

We floated to the pecan-paneled room. It was dark, as Esme and Edward had closed all of the shutters.

"I can see!" the man exclaimed. "Even though it is dark in here, I can see you all perfectly." He dropped my arm and held his hand out before him, turning it over and over in fascination.

"That's just one of the many changes you'll have to get used to," Carlisle said as he drew up a chair. "Please, sit down."

"Carefully," I cautioned, patting the sofa gently. The man gingerly set himself next to me and turned expectantly to Carlisle, tugging at his too-tight collar. He looked out of place amongst the fine furnishings – too big, too rough. He examined it all carefully and then turned back to Carlisle, eyes wide.

"Are you God?"

Carlisle looked dismayed, while Edward and Esme tried to hide the smiles that tugged at the corners of their mouths.

"Goodness, no! Whatever gave you that idea?"

The man grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Well, I reckon' I must be dead, what with the bear and all. And this young lady –" at this he swiveled uncomfortably on the sofa to get a better look at me – "well, she came out of nowhere, like a glorious vision, to carry me off. For a while I felt like I was trapped in the fires of hell, which was really no surprise – my mama warned me that my hijinks would catch up with me one day. But the whole time the flames licked through my veins, I could hear beautiful voices. And then all the pain stopped, and now I'm here, with y'all, and y'all are just about the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen."

He let his eyes linger on me a moment longer, then turned back to Carlisle.

"And your voice, your voice is the one I recognize the most, after hers. You were there the whole time, along with my Angel. So I reckon' you were the ones who made the fire go away, and somehow, maybe due to Mama's prayers, I ended up in Heaven."

He stared dubiously at Carlisle, who was speechless.

"Sir," the man said gravely, "you can't fool me. If you aren't the Good Lord himself, then you _must_ be St. Peter."

Edward choked back a laugh and I glared.

"You aren't in Heaven," I said softly, taking the man's hand in mine. It was icy cold and yet, my fingers seemed to burn with fire as I touched him.

His eyes opened even wider. "This can't be Hell," he whispered, stricken.

"No, it's not Hell, either. You didn't die up on that mountain, son," Carlisle said evenly. "Rosalie here fought off that bear and carried you back home, to us."

"I remember, Sir," the man said, winking at me. "I'd have had that bear if she'd given me a few minutes more. I was just catching my breath."

Esme beamed at me from across the room. The man didn't notice and kept on talking.

"She must be an angel to have done all that. Sure as a skunk's got stink," he said, puffing himself up, "no little girl could manage to get me down that mountain by herself. I'm the biggest, strongest man in the county and I've won the County Fair wrestling match three times to prove it."

"Rosalie's not a girl," Esme jumped in before I could spit out my retort. She knew that despite my fascination with this man, I'd be rankled by his sense of male superiority. "But she's not an angel, either," Esme said slowly, giving each word extra emphasis.

She stopped to let her comment sink in. The man sat, puzzled, while we stared at one another, not sure where to begin.

"I know y'all are trying to tell me something, but you Yanks have got to remember I'm just a simple country boy. Spit it out, it can't be worse than thinkin' I'm dead and buried."

Carlisle cleared his throat. I stiffened next to the man, remembering how horrified I'd been when I'd learned the truth.

"Rosalie – all of us -- we used to be human," Carlisle said, picking his words very carefully. "But at various points we all were changed. Like you."

"We can run more swiftly than the wind and our strength knows no bounds. We can see in the dark, as you have learned for yourself," Esme continued, nodding at us to go on.

"We have lightening fast reflexes," Edward began, seizing a book from Carlisle's desk and hurling it across the room toward the man. Instinctively, the man's hand shot up to catch the book. He tossed it up in the air, eyes wide, wondering at his agility.

"We can hear the lowest whispers," Edward continued, "and our voices sound like music."

The man murmured. "So the noise I am hearing?"

Edward answered. "The clock in the other room. And a wagon being driven up the hill. A mile away."

"I see," the man said, his expression unreadable.

"We are unbearably beautiful," I said, as I dragged my eyes away from his face. "And we never age."

"We never sleep," Edward said grimly. "If we want to, we never have to breathe."

"Nor eat." Esme said quietly.

Each statement cost us. We usually went to great pains to avoid speaking out loud the truth of our nature. The words were priceless, rubies and diamonds and pearls we had earned through pain and wakeful, never-ending nights. We set them before this stranger with great care. It was left to Carlisle to proffer the last of them. He laid the words, bare and stark, before the man.

"We only drink. Blood. We are vampires, son. We have chosen a different way – we only feed on the blood of animals – but our nature is the same. We are vampires. And now, so are you."

I cringed, waiting for the man's inevitable response once the horror sank in.

"Really?" he whispered.

"Yes. Really," Carlisle answered, his voice tinged with sadness.

I felt the man shudder next to me on the sofa and braced for the worst, my heart sinking. From deep inside my brain, the little voice cried out, _I told you!_ _He's going to leave, and you never even learned his name!_

Then I noticed that the shuddering I'd so dreaded had not stopped. If anything it had intensified, shaking the sofa under me. Was he going to erupt in madness, a violent newborn, gone out of control? Alarmed, I turned to face him, tensing myself for a fight. What I saw made my jaw drop.

He was laughing. The shudders were nothing but gut-busting guffaws. The man was shaking with mirth, his eyes screwed tight against his non-existent tears, shaking so hard that he could barely even speak.

"Shoot," he struggled to say between breaths. "Y'all looked so serious; I thought you were going to confess to something really bad, like being Papists!"

He slapped his knee, gleeful at his joke. We all just stared in shock.

"I've had worse to eat than animal blood in my time, no doubt about that," he continued between his guffaws. "Y'all should just be grateful you turned vampire before my Granny made you sit down to her possum stew!"

I looked at him, mortified. One of the worst things to happen to me in my entire existence was, to this _fool_ , a laughing matter?

The joints of the sofa began to whine with the stress of his shaking as they began to give out. I jumped up from the sofa, flying across the room just in time to see him dumped to the floor. The floorboards creaked and cracked beneath his weight.

Everyone looked around at each other, puzzled at his odd reaction. Only I seemed offended by his outburst.

"Stress response?" Edward mouthed to Carlisle, who shrugged, confused.

The man wheezed through his laughter, until slowly, he got a hold of himself. He looked up from the floor, pinning each of us with an impish grin and his glowing ruby eyes.

"If y'all don't mind my saying, y'all seem to have a case of Yankee stuffiness. There's no need to be so serious."

A swell of anger rushed through me and without thinking, I launched myself at him, my lips drawn back in a growl.

He caught me neatly, pinning my arms to my side and plopping me in his lap. I struggled against him, but it was useless. He had me beat. I cursed him under my breath.

"Let me go!" I shrieked, thrashing about.

He simply chuckled and pulled me in tighter.

"Aw, don't be angry with me, Rosey. Is it all right if I call you Rosey?"

I refused to answer. He chuckled to himself once again and addressed the others as I continued to struggle in his lap.

"My name is Emmett, Emmett McCarty. I apologize if I offended y'all. I was just trying to lighten things up. My mama always tells me I don't have an appropriate bone in my body. I guess wrestling with a bear and getting bit up by a vampire is about as inappropriate as you can get."

His face became quite solemn then and he brought his face closer to me, speaking low. I froze, mesmerized by his eyes.

"Do I have you to thank for the situation I find myself in?"

I nodded glumly, casting my eyes away and steeling myself for his anger.

"You should know she didn't change you herself, Mr. McCarty," Carlisle cut in, hoping to spare me. "For that, you have only me to blame."

"There's no blame here. I thank you, sir, for what you did on my behalf. But mostly I thank you, Angel, for plucking me off that mountain and bringing me home with you." He looked at me earnestly. "I would rather spend a million years drinking goat blood than imagine a life without your beautiful face in it, even if that life could've been spent strumming a harp inside the Pearly Gates."

"A million years is about right," Edward said bitterly.

Emmett arched a brow. "We get to live forever?" he breathed.

"'Get to' is a matter of viewpoint," Edward responded archly.

"Well, I'll be," Emmett declared, letting out a low whistle. He sat still, balancing me on his knee, looking thoughtful.

"Does that mean the goat blood part was true?"

"More like mountain lions and elk," Esme offered.

"Huh," Emmett answered as he mentally rearranged his picture of his new reality.

Edward looked pointedly at Emmett, then at me.

"Oops, sorry," Emmett apologized, letting me loose. I jumped across the room, as far as I could get from him. I hissed from where I stood, rubbing my arms.

Emmett smiled, a great, dazzling grin, and against my will I felt my anger slipping away.

"Don't be mad, Angel," he soothed at me. "I guess I've just been brought up to see the bright side of things. Comes in handy when your lot in life is a tough one. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings."

Carlisle and Esme looked at one another, surprised to hear such wisdom springing from one so young. Edward's face held grudging respect for how the man had taken the news. Only I, it seemed, nursed any anger toward this…this…_brute_ .

"Now, I must admit, I have a bit of thirst. I'm wondering, ma'am if I might trouble you for a drink of something cool?" Emmett gracefully sprung to his feet as he directed his request to Esme.

Esme smiled ruefully. "We have a bit more explaining to do about your new diet. Why don't you come with us," she said, gesturing toward the door. "I believe Edward has prepared something for you in the shed out back."

Emmett looked confused, but shrugged gamely.

"Race you, Edward," he said with a sudden grin, tensing to dash for the door, but before he'd moved an inch Edward shot ahead of him.

"How'd you do that?" Emmett bellowed, chasing him down the hallway and outside.

"Rosalie, are you coming?" Carlisle and Esme turned back expectantly from the doorway.

I sneered. "No, thank you. I think I've had enough of his company for one day."

They smiled to themselves and left me to my warring thoughts.

_This man was no angel,_ I thought. _More like a devil, with his troublemaking. So shallow, _ I thought, remembering his reactions_. So rough,_ I sniffed, remembering how he'd grappled me down onto his knee.

Then I remembered the feel of his hands on my arms and that familiar burning sensation worked its way through my body all over again -- only this time it was stronger.

I slid to the floor and clutched my arms about me, groaning inwardly. I had never known such attraction before, but I knew, instinctively what it was. I wanted him, despite myself. My knees were weak with the thought of his touch and the sound of his smooth voice saying my name. And that only made me angrier, for I couldn't allow myself to want anything from this man. The only thing that would come of that was more pain.

_But he isn't angry with you!_ My non-existent heart exulted as I replayed our conversation over and over in my head, lingering on his tender look as he'd thanked me.

_He could love you,_ the voice whispered, suddenly traitorous. _He could be the one._

I shoved the errant thought away._ Don't be ridiculous. Stupid human impulses,_ I stormed, and ran upstairs to hide in my room.


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: thank you all so much for all the reviews. I promised to write/post faster, so here goes. It is a bit of a bridge to the next bit of action... Enjoy!**

We were all afraid of how Emmett would react if he ever came across the smell of a human. So far we'd managed to keep him close to home by driving animals into the shed, where we'd trap them for Emmett to "hunt." But the animals were small, and Emmett was impatient, with a great thirst. He wanted to be let loose to test his skills.

After a few weeks we began to relax a bit. With the onset of winter, we'd become even more isolated – no humans had set upon our threshold for months. Emmett himself had been very obedient and had quickly learned to contain his strength after wrecking several pieces of Esme's prized furniture. More surprisingly, he'd shown himself to have a keen mind capable of great self-discipline, rapidly going through the volumes in Carlisle's library. When something was beyond him he didn't get frustrated -- he'd simply consult a dictionary or pin one of us down for as long as he could to get an answer.

Carlisle was delighted to have a new victim on whom he could inflict his enthusiasms – dragging Emmett through the illustrations of the new "artificial heart" his _Science_ magazine described and engaging him in spirited debates about whether giving laborers the right to unionize, along with the formation of the WPA, were the country's first steps toward Socialism.

The wireless was always turned on then, as events in Europe had captured Carlisle's attention. He was obviously concerned for the places he'd once known as home; his unease had only heightened over the year as month after month brought new changes to the Continent. I had not paid any attention when Hitler had ordered re-armament and mandatory conscription in the spring. I'd showed perfunctory sympathy for Carlisle's distress when Mussolini invaded Ethiopia; it seemed but a distant event that had no bearing on us. But when Hitler stripped the Jews of their German citizenship in November, Carlisle had almost been unable to contain himself, wearing a path across his study floor as he paced, trying to divine from the snippets of news what would happen next. He was so visibly disturbed it was hard not to take notice.

"Britain's naval treaty with Germany will only embolden Hitler," Carlisle had mused that night, talking back to the wireless set. "Why can't anyone see that? He must be stopped."

Esme had held Carlisle's hand and looked beseechingly at Emmett. It was at moments like these that Emmett was at his best. He'd do something deliberately annoying to provoke Edward into a wrestling match, or sit back in his chair to begin a long yarn – usually one originally told to him by his dear Granny – captivating us with his silly voices and animated expressions. Soon, Carlisle would be laughing out loud and the looming problems in Europe would be forgotten.

Whether it was watching Emmett master the etiquette lessons Esme gently laid out for him, hearing him debate the finer points of President Roosevelt's Social Security act with Edward, or seeing him distract Carlisle when Carlisle was distraught, I was proud to see how quickly he progressed and how naturally he seemed to carve out his place among us.

Of course, I only observed these things from afar, for I was doing everything possible to stay out of Emmett's way.

All I had to do was think of him and a slow heat would start to spread through my body. For the first time in my life, I felt tongue-tied and awkward around a man. And even though he seemed interested – _more_ than interested – I couldn't bring myself to accept his attention. Deep down, I lived in deathly fear of being mocked, of being humiliated, of losing the one thing I still treasured more than anything else: my self-control.

I had gone through too much to ever let myself be vulnerable to a man, even one like him.

And I knew I would lose control if I let him get too close to me. If I'd needed any proof, I'd gotten it the last time he'd trapped me in the narrow hallway leading from the kitchen. He'd reached his massive arm across the hall, blocking my way, his red eyes twinkling.

"I was wonderin' if I could ask you something, Rosey," he'd breathed, and my knees went weak.

"What's that?" I whispered back, unable to drag my eyes from his face.

He reached up and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. I trembled at the touch of his finger and backed against the wall for support.

"Would you mind if I asked you to be the one to take me on my first real hunt?" His tone was honey smooth as he moved his hand down to my shoulder, leaning in even closer to me. My whole body pulsed with energy; it was almost as if I could feel the length of him pressed up against me.

"I might need your steady hand, if what Edward tells me is true. I'm afraid he thinks I may be hard to handle. And from what I hear, you have quite a bit of self-discipline about you. It may do me some good."

I gulped, unable to speak.

He chuckled quietly. "You don't have to answer me now. You just think on it. I'm not goin' anywhere."

And with that he disappeared, leaving me trembling in the hall, trying to regain my composure.

I was satisfied now that he really didn't need me to protect him. There was no risk of discovery anymore – the evidence of his encounter with the bear had been sufficient to convince his family he was dead. They mourned him, but accepted his harsh fate as just another consequence of the rough mountain life they led. And as for him, he'd adapted to our lifestyle with great ease and seemed quite at home with the others. He was whip smart; any limitations that his impoverished upbringing had set upon him would soon fall away under Esme's and Carlisle's guidance. Then he would be indistinguishable from the rest of us.

All I had to do was wait for them to complete their move out West and he would likely go with them, leaving me alone, just like I wanted.

So I watched from afar: avoiding him as much as I could; marveling at his adaptability; wondering about the pull – maternal and otherwise – he seemed to have on me; and secretly storing away the little memories I would have of him when he left, like a squirrel hoarding nuts for the cold winter ahead.

I did not think anything would disrupt the tidy ending I'd envisioned to our acquaintance. But then, I did not foresee what would happen on that first real hunt.


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: thanks for all the reviews -- now for some plot twists!**

It was close to Christmas. As a gift, Carlisle and Esme had finally given Emmett permission to go on his first hunt.

For days, Edward and I circled the mountain, scanning the snow banks for human tracks and trails, trying to pinpoint the most isolated areas. Emmett had shown great self-control so far but he hadn't encountered any humans yet; we could never be too careful. And as for me, our search was a good distraction. I didn't want to dwell too much on my memories of last Christmas.

We'd settled on an area called Copper Creek. The creek wound itself through abandoned mines and lonely roads that used to bear trucks loaded with copper down into Cleveland. When the mines shut down, all the people went away. The stripped-down forest, ugly and bare, had slowly grown back so that now a thick growth of lush pine covered the scars of industry. The deep gouges in the earth had turned themselves into pools, and the constant rush of the creek kept the pools from ever freezing solid, attracting thirsty animals both winter and summer.

It should be easy hunting, we thought, without risk. And, as luck would have it, the weather had turned exceptionally cold; the air was cutting and the wind fierce. Anyone with sense would stay close to their fires on a night like this. We were so confident that there would be no humans about that Carlisle and Esme decided to stay home.

Emmett was as excited as I'd ever seen him. He grinned ear to ear, eager to get going. We were hard-pressed to wait for nightfall.

_Like a child waiting for Santa Claus,_ I thought, smiling to myself as he retied his boots over and over again, reminding myself not to be too indulgent.

"You'll let me track it, won't you? I want to track it for myself," Emmett pleaded.

"Of course. You won't have any trouble," Edward promised. "We'll set you in the right direction and be right there behind you."

"Do y'all know if there will be bear?" Emmett said impishly, his eyes sparkling. "Since I can't convince Rosalie to let me court her, I'm really in the mood for a _rendezvous_ with that grizzly that bested me."

I could have sworn I was blushing as I studiously ignored his comment.

Esme put down her knitting and consulted the clock in the parlor. It read 5:00.

"It certainly is dark enough now. These mountain evenings come on quickly, don't they? You may go now – be sure to stick together and stay out of trouble," she admonished in her best maternal tone.

"Just like my Mama would've said," Emmett joked, winking at Esme. "Let's go, y'all, it's time to go get me some grizzly."

"Black bear," Edward intoned, rolling his eyes. "There are no grizzlies in this part of the country, Emmett."

"Tomato, tomahto," Emmett shot back over his shoulder, a turn of the phrase he'd picked up from his hours at the wireless, as he headed out the door. "Let's go."

**XXXXX**

We glided over the crusted snow leaving the pristine surface unmarred. As we ran, we reminded Emmett of his lessons.

"You'll need to be very still, and let the scents come to you. If you wait, you'll find ones that appeal to you more. Usually, those will be bigger game," I added, knowing that was important to Emmett.

"Will I recognize the smell of bear?" he asked.

Edward laughed, not breaking his stride. "Given your close encounter, I'd be surprised if you'll ever be able to forget it."

His answer seemed to satisfy Emmett, who beamed even wider.

In the back of my mind, I could hear Esme giving me my own lessons. _Wait until you are sure. Mark your prey, then give yourself over to instinct. Kill cleanly. And whatever you do, always be on guard for the scent of humans. You cannot afford even a moment of weakness._

I smiled smugly as the wind howled about us. There was no risk of any humans straying across our path tonight.

"We're almost there," I said in a voice that only they would hear. No animals would hear our approach. We slowed to a trot, then a walk, coming to rest in a stand of thick pine.

"Close your eyes, Emmett," Edward ordered. "What do you smell?"

Emmett inhaled deeply and frowned. "Mostly sap, I think. Nothing that appetizing."

Edward's brow creased into a sharp V. "You're not concentrating. I know its asking a lot, but quiet your mind. Focus."

I took advantage of the moment to stare at Emmett's face. Stilled from his normal animated chatter, I could still make out the features that had so reminded me of Vera's baby. He looked so peaceful. I wanted to share the moment with him, so I, too, closed my eyes and let the smells of the forest, distilled by the chill of winter, flood my senses.

Pine sap – yes. But then the distinct smell of icy water. The sharpness of snow. The blandness of the small animals, too bland to distinguish amongst them – chipmunks, squirrels, probably even stray opossum, caught by surprise outside their dens on this cold winter night.

The mossy, musky scent of deer. Familiar and comforting, if not exactly enticing.

And then the wind shifted, and a smell I'd know anywhere wafted around me.

A human.

"No!" I shouted, opening my eyes. But it was too late. Emmett had already tensed into a crouch, springing into a run before I could stop him.

"Which way?" I shouted into the blackness to Edward, knowing he, too, would be chasing after Emmett. He at least had some hope of catching him; he was always the fastest among us, despite Emmett's newborn strength.

"North," Edward shouted back. "The human must still be miles away; I can't hear anything. I'll circle around Hodgson's Pool. You go through the leach pit, try to cut him off."

I broke off from him, heading for the one wound the miners had inflicted upon the mountain that still refused to heal.

The leach pit was full of chemicals. Nothing grew there. Not even a blade of grass. As I came upon it, it spread out and away from me for a good mile, glistening in the moonlight. The winds had swept the pit bare in the middle; frost formed a sheen over the limey earth that was all the miners had left behind. I looked around the edge and didn't see any signs of life. Then a sudden movement caught my eye.

There, loping down the side of the pit, was Emmett.

His eyes were crazed with bloodlust. But his path would bring him directly in front of me. All I had to do was time my jump and I'd be able to knock him over. That might be all it took to break his concentration.

I only had a few moments but that was all it took for my brain to register the ripple of his thighs as he ran, the power of his stride, sending waves of heat through my body.

_Focus, Rosalie,_ I said to myself.

I hurled myself over the edge, speeding toward him with deadly accuracy. I let out a growl and watched as he stopped short, looking around to find the source of the sound.

All this happened in a split second; then I was upon him.

His body wasn't prepared for the assault so I caught him flat footed, easily knocking him over. As we fell, I wrapped my legs around him. I'd need to keep him long enough to bring him to his senses. Before I'd gotten a firm hold, though, he'd broken free of my arms and rolled, over and over, thrashing against me, unleashing snarl after snarl as I dodged his snapping jaws, dangerously close to being bitten.

I unlodged a leg and kicked with all my might, connecting with his torso and sending him sailing through the air. He landed on his feet, though, and charged right back at me before I could even regain my footing.

"Emmett! Emmett!" I yelled, trying to break through his animal craze. "It's me, Rosalie!"

_He's just a newborn, Rosalie. He has no strategy. You can outsmart him._

He lunged, his whole body giving away his intentions, and I neatly sidestepped his charge.

He howled in fury and wheeled back on me.

"Emmett," I began again, backing away from him. "No one is going to take away your kill. But it's a human. You don't want to hurt a human."

He growled at me, still unseeing.

I continued to step away, my hands outstretched to show I meant no harm.

"Get a hold of yourself, Emmett. I don't want to fi—"

In my quick survey of the pit, I'd missed the hole. In the millisecond I tottered on its edge, Emmett leaped, driving me backwards and pinning me to the frozen ground.

We snarled and snapped, struggling for control, but now he had me trapped. Suddenly I was very aware of how much stronger he was than me, how insignificant I felt under his stony hands. I felt the hard, icy ground grinding into my back as I twisted to get away from him. He pinned me down by my wrists, his hard, taut body stretched against mine.

And then I was back in the street, in Rochester. Helpless.

I thrashed against him but in vain – he only gripped me tighter, causing me to gasp with the pain.

My vision started to cloud as the blackness closed in, trying to protect me from painful memory. All I could see were his eyes, red and hungry, staring me down like an animal to be hunted. And in my mind I could hear them once again, laughing at me, egging each other on.

_No,_ I thought, old instincts struggling back to the surface, forcing me to gasp for breath and push against him. _No._

Then something changed. The wind had shifted again. Dawning recognition filled his eyes, something almost imperceptible, as the human scent vanished as quickly as it had come. The spell had been broken.

I could hear my shallow breaths coming fast. Confused, Emmett made no move, but watched me carefully.

"You're hurting me," I whispered, closing my eyes against his stare.

The pain and pressure were suddenly gone. I heard the skitter of rocks as he scrambled away with an uncharacteristic lack of grace.

I pulled my body in close, pressing my eyes even more tightly closed. I waited for him to speak, but he said nothing.

After what seemed like an eternity, Edward's voice echoed out over the pit.

"It was a surveyor for the national forest. Under a deadline or he'd never have been out on a night like this. He finally gave up, though; too cold." When no one answered he called out again. "Rosalie, are you all right? Emmett?"

There was a momentary pause, and then a groan. "Oh, no," he muttered to no one in particular.

_Stupid mind reader,_ I thought.

I heard him land gracefully at the bottom of the pit next to me and snapped my eyes open.

"He's fine," I said briskly, jumping to my feet before he could interfere with me, refusing to meet his eyes. "I'm done babysitting for the night. He's all yours."

I leaped back to the edge of the pit and kept right on running, hoping that Edward couldn't see how my legs shook beneath me as I ran for the house. My mind clamped down. _You cannot think about this_ , I commanded it, forcing myself to give myself over to instinct as the desolate wind howled around me, driving me home.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews!! This one is short and sweet, hope you enjoy:)**

I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to face Esme and Carlisle. Not yet. They would be alarmed to see me back, alone, so early. I didn't want to worry them, and I couldn't put them at ease without giving myself away.

If I just kept running, Esme would only worry all the more. I hadn't wandered far from home in months.

But I didn't want the others to find me, either, once they came back to the house. I couldn't deal with Edward's prying right now, and I certainly didn't want to answer any questions from Emmett. Let him think I was just –

_What? Crazy? _

I laughed out loud. Yes, crazy would do. Why not? Sometimes I thought I was crazy.

The shed sounded like a good place to hide for a while. _No one would be hunting in there tonight_ , I thought sarcastically.

I slid the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind me. I looked around. There were a few splintered boards in the wall, places where Emmett had gotten a bit too enthusiastic in his zeal to "hunt." It was too small to be a real barn, but it had something that resembled a hayloft. I'd stay up there.

_You can't hide forever,_ the voice said.

_I'm not hiding, I'm thinking, _ I argued back as I climbed the spindly ladder to the top. As I moved, hand over hand, I noticed I was still shaking.

Maybe he wouldn't notice my odd behavior. After all, he had been in a mindless haze, operating on instinct. Maybe he'd just think I was angry with him for following the human trail.

_What do you care? I thought you wanted him to leave, anyway_ ...

This was true, I thought mournfully. I had wanted him to leave.

_But now?_

Now? Now I didn't know. Now I felt a pang at the thought of him far away.

_He's just a country boy,_ the voice said doubtfully.

"No," I answered out loud. "He's so much more, can't you see?"

_He'll hurt you. He hurt you tonight._

I felt a surge of anger. "He didn't mean to," I said, coming to his defense.

_But you were scared. How can you ever be with him if you're still scared?_

I held my head in my hands. I didn't know the answer to that question.

The voice went silent.

Snatches of conversation began to float up to me from outside.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Emmett snarled.

"It wasn't mine to tell," Edward answered, his voice calm.

"Then why are you telling me _now_ ?"

"Tonight…changed things."

They were still walking up the hill toward the house, getting closer to the shed. My throat began to constrict, old human feelings of shame and panic setting in. Edward hadn't told him, had he?

"I'm sorry. I'm still not sure I should have said anything, but I thought it best that you know."

There was a pause.

"No. There's no one left. They are all dead."

Then there was the sound of Edward clasping a hand to Emmett's shoulder; the porch door closing. Edward was gone.

The wind whirled about, shaking the rafters of the shed. My mind was racing. I listened carefully, but heard nothing else. Had Emmett left, too? I held my body taut as a bowstring, straining to hear him.

I sighed with relief as I realized he'd left with Edward.

But I was wrong.

The air was suddenly cut by a strange noise: half growl, half cry. The old shed screamed and groaned as it began to shake.

I gripped the edge of the loft and peeked over.

Emmett's body was a blur. He had punched his way through the shed and was systematically tearing apart the wall, ripping board from board, his face contorted with some emotion I did not recognize, an emotion that seemed out of place on his angelic face.

The shed began to lean in on itself, sinking toward the gaping hole. I skittered to the other side of the loft, never letting him leave my sight.

He turned from the hole and began breaking boards, flinging and kicking them wildly across the shed, where they careened into the old wood, opening new holes. His eyes were unfocused, lost in a red fury; the sounds of destruction were punctuated by his guttural cries.

Finally, he drew himself up short, breathing heavily. His anger spent, he slumped down onto the ground. He held his head for a long time, and then slowly looked up to survey the damage he'd done.

I slid further back, hiding from his gaze.

"Great, Em," he muttered to himself. "Just great. One more thing you fouled up."

He stood up wearily, lost in thought. He did not move for a very long time. I stopped breathing and froze in place, not wanting him to know he'd had a witness. From my hiding place, I could see the strain in his broad shoulders, the barely contained anger as he opened and closed his fists. He turned and looked at the damage again. With one last snarl, he snatched a rusty shovel from the ground and snapped it in two, hurling the pieces through the vast emptiness he'd created in the wall.

Then he was gone.

I waited until I heard the slam of the porch door behind him before I sank back against the wall. As I did, I felt the shed shift on its foundation.

_How appropriate_ , I thought, frowning to myself. For certainly, I was on very unsteady ground.


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews and messages. It is really overwhelming. I know we all are eager to get to a happier time for Rosalie and Emmett... hope this begins to satisfy:)**

After that night, I spent a lot of time in the woods, nestled in the trees, watching – just like I used to back in Rochester. There wasn't much to watch, at first; I did more thinking than watching. But as I picked my perch every day, I found myself circling and circling around the mountain, closing in on something. It wasn't until I found myself hovering over the McCarty's little homestead that I realized what I was doing.

_It's only prudent,_ I told myself on the seventh day of watching his family. I needed to learn more about this man who seemed to have some strange hold on me.

"How convenient that your 'research' enables you to avoid actually being in the same room with him," Edward said, smugly, from the branch above me.

"Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around?" I sighed, weary of his intrusions.

"Old habits die hard," he laughed, shaking the branch to sprinkle me with snow as he swung down to sit next to me.

"They seem like a nice family, don't they?" he continued, inclining his head toward the cabin.

"Yes," I said, looking down myself. His mother was young; maybe in her forties. Her hair was still rich and dark, pulled into a practical bun on the back of her head. She was outside the cabin now, straining at the stump to chop some wood with an axe that was clearly too big for her.

She swung the axe around, letting gravity pull it down to split the log with a satisfying crack. She let the axe dangle at her side before dropping it to the ground. A trickle of sweat ran down her face, tracking through the heavy smile lines that had knitted themselves around her sparkling blue eyes. Emmett's eyes. She reached up to wipe the sweat away and a lock of curly hair sprang loose from the bun.

"She misses him," I said, more of a question than a statement.

"Yes," Edward answered softly, his whisper like the wind. "But not for the chores. After her husband died, Emmett became the man of the house. He took care of them. But most of all, he made them happy. He made them laugh."

Three children came spilling out of the tiny cabin. Two of them circled around their mother, jumping and laughing at some game they'd invented. The third child – a girl, from the braids that snuck out from under her woolen hat – seemed to hang back.

The other children danced away in the snow. Emmett's mother squatted down next to the stump, gesturing to the girl.

"Come, show me," she said.

The little girl smiled shyly and stepped forward, holding something out in her mittened hands. The woman's breath caught in her throat. Then, she smiled and reached down to take the thing from her daughter.

It was a bird perched on a branch, whittled out of wood, a delicate pattern of feathers worked with great care across its back.

Emmett's mother held the bird up to the sky, blinking away a tear. She reached out to caress the little girl's face, which suddenly crumpled. The girl threw herself around her mother, clinging to her. I felt a surge of longing.

The girl sobbed, her little body shaking with grief until eventually the tears petered out into sniffles. Emmett's mother simply held her there, rubbing small circles against her back, her own face etched with worry. With the last of her sniffles, the girl rubbed her face against her mother's shoulder. They sat there like that in the snow for what seemed like forever.

Then, just as suddenly, the little girl pushed away from her mother and ran into the woods, kicking up dirty snow behind her, leaving her mother to gaze after her anxiously and wonder at the little bird she'd left behind.

"She was Emmett's favorite," Edward said, seeing my eyes following the girl through the trees. "He taught her to carve like that."

I turned to Edward.

"I can't answer that," he said before I'd even become conscious of the question forming in my mind. "You have to answer that for yourself."

I slumped against the tree trunk, frustrated. Edward paused, waiting to see if I'd ask something else. I kept my mind blank, focusing on the sounds of laughter down below.

"How do you feel about him, Rose?"

_Such a complicated question,_ I thought. _I'm drawn to him._

"What else?" Edward asked patiently, his amber eyes searching mine.

_I…I'm afraid of him._

Edward cocked an eyebrow quizzically.

"Not of him hurting me physically," I rushed to say. "I know he wouldn't do that, not intentionally, anyway." I was frustrated by my inability to explain. "It's complicated."

Edward let the wind swirl around us while he probed my thoughts, trying to understand. I stared impassively, not trying to resist. After a moment, he smiled the tiniest of smiles.

"It isn't like that, Rose."

"How do you know?" I demanded, looking away.

"I happen to have this little gift of reading minds, remember?" he reminded me, his voice gentle. "He would never judge you, Rose. None of us would. Believe me, you are the only one who thinks that way."

I sat in silence, refusing to believe.

"He would do anything to protect you, Rose."

I turned back to face him. "Why?" The words were torn from me.

"Ah," he said, looking amused at my confusion. "That is another thing you will need to learn for yourself. I have to draw the line somewhere."

I turned away again, thinking over what he'd said.

"You should come home and give him a chance, Rose."

With that, the tree swayed a bit as Edward sprang away, leaving me to my thoughts.

**XXXXX**

I sat there until the fullness of darkness had wrapped itself around the mountain. The little cabin glowed with warmth from within. The sound of fiddling, happy and sweet, spilled outside; it was the same sound that had filled my daydreams of Emmett from before I'd even known who he really was.

Maybe Edward was right. Maybe I needed to give Emmett a chance.

I stole my way down the mountain that night and snuck back to the house, like so many nights before, but this time, I was anxious. _Don't tell him I'm coming,_ I thought as I climbed the last hill, just in case Edward was listening. _I don't know what I'm doing. I haven't made up my mind. I...I don't want to disappoint him._

I scaled the outside wall and entered my room through the window, still clinging to my privacy.

I ghosted around my room for hours, nervously checking my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks still had a faint flush from yesterday's hunt. My eyes were golden and bright. I was as beautiful – no, more beautiful – than ever. Why did I feel so nervous?

_Maybe your beauty won't be enough if he knows what it has cost you on the inside. Ask yourself, Rosalie, are you empty on the inside?_

I stared back into the mirror and didn't turn away from my reflection.

"No," I said, raising my chin in defiance. "No, I am not."

I waited, bracing myself for the reminders, the warnings; for whatever horrible memories the voice would pull out from the dark recesses of my mind to take away my resolve.

The voice stayed silent.

A small smile stole across my reflection. I gazed at myself more intently.

_Are you really going to do this?_

"Yes," I answered. "Yes, I am."

_Well, then, you can't hide out here forever_ , the voice chided, reminding me how long I'd lingered in front of the mirror. _Time to go down._

I giggled nervously. Since when did courting seem so ominous? With a final look in the mirror, I tucked a stray curl behind my ear and smoothed my skirts. Then, I turned to the door. Exhaling, I squared my shoulders and turned the knob quietly, preparing myself to go downstairs.

As the door swung open, I looked down. At my feet, just over the threshold, sat a tiny package wrapped in tissue paper and blue ribbon.

Confused, I reached down and, hands shaking, undid the ribbon. The tissue fell away and I gasped.

There, in my palm, lay a bird whittled out of wood, clinging to a branch, poised to take flight.


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: So after a burst of frequent posting you probably wondered what happened to me... I just couldn't decide what to do with this chapter. Probably the biggest result of this indecision is that I didn't end the story in this chapter, as I'd originally intended...So, here it is. I hope you like it!**

It was awkward at first.

Esme and Carlisle hovered around us like hummingbirds, keeping a discreet distance but definitely chaperoning. It was sweet, really, their concern. I think they were more worried about me getting in my own way than anything else.

We did little things. A game of checkers. Listening to _Porgy and Bess_ on the wireless. We would sit on the swing, gazing at the winter landscape, not saying much at all. We never spoke of _us_ . I was shy, suddenly, unsure of myself. But every now and then I would see something in Emmett's eyes – something he was usually very careful not to let slip -- and I would relax. Over time, we became comfortable with one another.

We were very proper, of course. He never touched me, not so much as an accidental bumping of knees. But waves of heat seemed to roll over us anyway, bridging the distance between us, almost palpable.

And every day, Emmett would leave me a little gift in a place only I would find it. Hand-carved combs for my hair. A sparkling agate he'd plucked from the bottom of the creek. A robin's egg, perfect and blue. A bracelet, each wooden link whittled to be as delicate as a spider web.

They were gifts, more than anything, of his time and effort, and I loved him for it.

As winter rolled to spring, the snow began to melt away from the mountain. The creeks swelled temporarily to rushing rivers. Crocus sprouted through the few drifts that were left, and the birds began to return. It was a wonderful time to be outside. We began to roam the hills again, together, sometimes hunting, sometimes just wandering.

"Race you!" Emmett shouted, surging ahead through the dusky pines. I laughed out loud; he was so competitive. He would have a hard time accepting his lost advantage once his newborn strength faded away. Still, with his build, he'd always be the strongest of us, I'd wager.

I raced after him, my long hair flying behind me in the chill wind. He'd disappeared into the trees up ahead, but the path we were on was familiar – I'd catch up with him eventually. My mind wandered elsewhere as I ran – I didn't really need to pay that much attention. Every footfall was natural, easy, when I was with Emmett.

"Boo!" he shouted, swinging down in front of me from a tree.

Startled, I crouched. "Emmett McCarty!" I scolded, straightening myself up. "You know better than to try to scare me!"

He laughed a great big guffaw. "You should see your face, Rosalie. You look like you saw a ghost!"

"Very funny," I pouted.

Suddenly, he turned serious. "Come here," he said, reaching out his hand. "There's something I want to show you."

I looked at his outstretched hand and paused. I hadn't touched him since that night in the leach pit. Hesitantly, I placed my hand in his. My whole body tingled.

His face broke into a grin. "Follow me."

He led me through the trees, going slowly, almost human speed. After fifteen minutes or more he led me to a small stone house.

"This is the house my Daddy grew up in," he said quietly.

I took it in. The roof had collapsed in one corner. Moss had blanketed the northern wall in green and dead leaves had piled into drifts all around it. It was desolate, completely abandoned.

"What happened?" I asked, conscious I was still holding his hand.

He smiled wistfully, kicking at some leaves and sending a clump of earth flying. "Life happened. He met my Mama and moved over the mountain. My grandparents passed on. No one had any use for it. I guess no one ever will."

I felt a pang for him. "Do you miss your family much?"

He looked up at my eyes and I felt a lurch in what would have been my heart. His eyes were fading from ruby red and turning a tawny orange. They were filled with longing.

"I miss them terribly. It makes me feel even worse that I'm starting to forget the little things about them. But I wouldn't mind it if I never saw them again if I knew I could spend my eternity with you."

My dead heart lurched.

He pulled me close. My whole body was trembling.

"Ah, Rosalie, you have no idea what you do to me," he moaned as he closed his eyes and leaned in, burying his lips in my hair.

Fire raced through my body at his touch. Gently, he brought one hand to my chin and turned my face up so he could look into my eyes.

"Please don't fight me anymore, Rose."

I closed my eyes, too weak to answer. He mouth came down on mine, questioning. When I didn't resist, he became bolder, more insistent. Shock waves of pleasure went through my body as I felt his strong arms around me, pulling me tighter.

My body melted into his._ This is how it is supposed to be_ .

I didn't recognize the feelings I was having, but I pressed myself against him, pure instinct taking over. I was a little _too_ enthusiastic, catching him off-balance and sending us flying through the front wall of the house onto a bed of leaves.

I landed on top of him and the scattered stones, still locked in his embrace. I felt his knee creep up to part my legs as he flipped me over on my back, my wrists pinned under his big hands. I froze in fear.

_This isn't the same,_ I told my willful body, trying to force the tension out of it. _Not the same_ . _Not the same._ But I couldn't drive away the memories of that night in Rochester. The spell had been broken.

He sensed the change in me and pulled away. I averted my eyes.

"Look at me, Rosalie." His breath was coming hard, as was mine.

I didn't move.

"Rose?"

I wanted to die of shame. "Don't be angry," I whispered, covering my face.

He let out a big groan and gathered me into his arms. I was in his lap, gasping great sobs of frustration and anger.

He held me there until my body stopped shaking. He took my face in his hands and kissed away my imaginary tears.

"I could never be angry with you, Angel," he said gently. Then his jaw tensed and his eyes turned hard. "What those men did to you…." He sighed and leaned his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. "If you hadn't already taken care of them, I would have to go do it myself."

The forest seemed strangely quiet as I let his words sink in. We stayed that way for a long time, until finally he pulled back from me and cupped my chin in his hand.

"I'm in no hurry, Rosalie. I can wait forever if that's what it takes. And I promise I will do right by you."

He stood me up amidst the rubble of his father's house, and then took my hands in his. He knelt down amidst the rubble and looked up at me.

"Rosalie Hale, when you found me here on this mountain, you saved my life. No, more than that, you gave me a new life, a better one. Marry me, Rose. Marry me."

I held my breath. A rush of dreams and fading memories, pure pain, came barreling at me as he knelt there, clinging to my hands.

My joy at Royce's proposal.

Saying goodbye to Vera that last night, my head filled with thoughts of my future.

Waking up with Carlisle at my side and then remembering what had happened in the snow.

The oppressive, upper crust propriety that gripped Rochester and quietly swept away the memory of me.

The realization that the killing didn't make the pain go away.

The long, dark months that had followed.

The phantom, golden-haired children that now, I knew, I would never have.

Nothing would ever change what I had lost. But it had all led to this moment.

Emmett squeezed my hands, pulling me back to the present.

"Rose?" he said, looking up at me questioningly. "I'll make you happy, Rosalie. I'll work every day to make you laugh."

I stared back at him, trying to compose my face while my mind warred with itself, careful not to give too much away.

He flinched as he read my hard expression, his eyes wounded. There was an awkward pause as he searched for the right words.

"I know you'd never have given me a second look if things had been, well, _normal_ ..."

"That's not it!" I cried as I dropped to my knees in front of him, mortified that he would so completely misread my caution.

"Shhh, now," he said, placing a finger across my lips. "Just let me finish. If that's what it is, well, I don't blame you, Rose. You were the prettiest girl in town, I reckon, no matter what town you were in. And I was just a dumb ox of a country boy." He grinned sheepishly. "But things have changed. I've changed. And I'll keep changing for you, Rosalie. I've got more than a lifetime to do it."

I pushed away his hand, frustrated that he would think me so shallow, frustrated with myself for giving him the wrong impression. "That's not it at all! How can you even say that?"

"Well, then, what is it, sweetheart?" He asked, a bemused, but patient look on his face as he sank back.

When he put it to me so simply, I didn't know what to say. I thought of how empty I still felt sometimes, how strangely dependent I'd become on him in these last few months, how fresh my own wounds felt sometimes. How damaged I still felt.

"It's just…" The words were so difficult to say, I could barely whisper them. "I have so little to give you."

He looked at me almost reproachfully.

"You've already given me this life. If I can spend it with you, I'll have all I need."

Taking my hands again, he looked into my eyes.

"I love you Rose. I don't have a diamond to offer you -- though God knows you deserve one -- but I promise you the silver of an eternity of starry nights if you'll be my wife. Please, Angel, marry me. I promise nothing will ever hurt you again."

I closed my eyes and just for a moment, I let myself believe Emmett's promises. When I did, I could almost forget everything else. I let the peace of it wash over me until I knew what I must do.

"Yes," I whispered into the wind.

I opened my eyes and smiled. When I looked into his eyes again, I knew that I was right.

"Yes."

**A/N: I have to give a plug to the Allison Kraus song, "You're Just a Country Boy." It has been inside my head since the very beginning of writing ** _**Rosalie's Revenge** _ **and Emmett's proposal sort of references it….**


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, everyone!**

I sat at my vanity, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

I looked the part, of course. My gown was perfect – satin, white with a hint of pink to bring some color to my alabaster skin. The neckline showed off the delicate sweep of my collarbone.

Esme and I had hand-beaded the headpiece then worked in a tuft of veil that would float down over half my face, leaving one golden eye peeping out.

I held the delicate piece in my hands and fingered the tiny pearls wondering at their perfection – who knew that something so pure and beautiful could grow from something contaminated, dirty?

I heard footsteps on the stairs. Esme. There was a quiet knock at my door.

"Come in," I said, amazed at how calm my voice sounded.

Esme ghosted in, closing the door behind her. She looked as serene as ever.

"Did you ever think this day would come, Rosalie?" she asked, a slight smile animating her face.

I tilted my head, pondering her question. I'd accepted Emmett's proposal, not thinking about all it would mean. And before we'd had the chance to do anything about it, we'd been forced to move. There'd been an incident…it had no longer been safe for us to stay in Tennessee.

Realistically, we would have had to move, anyway. It wasn't really fair to Emmett to stay somewhere where he'd have to keep hidden – I'd had to go through that myself, back in Rochester, and only my desire to punish Royce had kept me sane through all those months. And there was no one who could legally marry us near Cleveland who wouldn't have immediately recognized Emmett. If there was one thing we agreed upon, it was that we both wanted our marriage to be real, as legally binding and recognized as if we had been human. A ceremony performed by Carlisle would not suffice by itself.

The rush to vacate the house and move out West had been a secret relief to me… No time to plan, too many unanswered questions that could not be resolved until we were settled, safe. I always found a reason why we couldn't really manage to be married along the way. They mostly centered on protecting Emmett, keeping him out of temptation's way. He patiently accepted my reasons, never pushing too hard, which only made me feel guiltier.

Now we were here, in Washington. We were settled into the home Carlisle had had carved out of the wilderness. We were safe from intrusion, safe from rumors, safe even from the Indian tribe, which had grudgingly agreed to a treaty. I had run out of reasons to delay.

We'd been to the courthouse and had a paper, signed and witnessed, saying we were man and wife. And today…today, we would make it real.

"No," I said, my mouth dry. "No, I didn't actually think this day would come." I thought of what being married to Emmett meant. I thought about our honeymoon night, rapidly approaching, and the pit of my stomach filled with dread.

Esme took me in, her topaz eyes glowing with kindness, and sat down on the bed. "Come here by me, Rosalie."

Obediently, I set down the headpiece and left my chair and sat down next to her. She took my hand in hers and looked absentmindedly out the window.

"My mother never took the time to talk to me about marriage. What it meant, what it would require. When I went to my husband, I was so naïve, Rosalie. I thought that…. Well, never mind what I thought. It was just something to endure."

I quit breathing. I could feel my panic rising.

"It doesn't have to be that way, Rosalie," Esme continued, her voice soft. "When you are with someone you love, it is entirely different. And for us, with every sense heightened, every moment can be almost unbearable, it is so exquisite."

She turned to me then, her eyes gentle with concern.

"Have you felt that already when he touches you?"

I looked down at my lap, embarrassed, and nodded.

"I thought so," she said, her voice sounding relieved. "And I can tell by the way Emmett looks at you that it must be the same for him." She squeezed my hand in encouragement and went on. "Are you nervous?"

I nodded again, not looking up. She sighed and seemed to weigh her words carefully.

"That is understandable. But really, you have nothing to worry about. The most important thing is to make sure that when you are alone together tonight, you are really alone."

I picked up my head and turned to her, confused. "Of course we'll be alone; we're going away."

She smiled. "That's not what I mean. You'll have plenty of privacy, to be sure. What you need is to be fully present, really _with_ Emmett when you are with him." She paused to let her words sink in. "Don't let there be a third person in that room with you, Rosalie. Don't let the memory of Royce and what he did to you ruin the happiness you have today."

"But how can I stop it?" I whispered, remembering with shame the times I'd frozen up and pushed Emmett away.

Esme placed her other hand over mine and patted it. "Just trust Emmett, and trust yourself, and it will be fine."

She pulled me back over to the vanity, seating me before the mirror. I watched her deft hands brush out my long, blonde hair and then arrange it in a sophisticated twist. She settled the headpiece carefully on top, tucking and turning dozens of hairpins to make sure it wouldn't move, and then stood behind me, hands resting on my shoulders.

I looked like a china doll – porcelain, untouched. No one would ever have known to look at me what I had been through.

Esme smiled at me in the mirror.

"Such a beautiful bride," she said, "inside and out. Emmett is in for a treat when he sees you."

She moved to the door and stopped.

"In Emmett's eyes, Rosalie, you are perfect, just the way you are. See yourself through his eyes, dear. And remember, there's no better revenge than your happiness."

I thought about what she said for a long time after she'd left. As I did, the edge of my nervousness began to fade away, turning to excitement. Not because of the flowers, the music, or the fancy gown. In fact, if I was honest, this didn't even come close to what I'd always pictured as the wedding of my dreams -- there were no adoring people to admire me as I floated down the stairs into our sitting room. No dinner dance. No pile of gifts. No toasts and cheers. But I was getting something more.

Eventually, the sound of Emmett's footfalls as he paced below, waiting, interrupted my thoughts.

I smiled at my reflection. It was time.


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: I know, I know. It has taken me forever. Those of you who have been in email contact with me know I was torn about what to do... many people seemed to want a wedding, or even more so, a wedding night scene, but the ceremony itself felt beside the point to me and sharing the wedding night, well, at first that felt downright intrusive. But after writing what I thought was the last chapter (now repurposed for the epilogue), I thought it seemed too end too abruptly. So, basically I got caught up in dithering and have made you wait so long that there is no way that this chapter will ever live up to whatever expectations or hopes you have built up. So I apologize in advance.**

**Also, I was going to make this chapter a one shot to make it more steamy but it really didn't work in the story flow to have the chapter left out of the main story and I really don't like writing love scenes. And I found it hard to write steamy in c.1937 language... so if it sounds cheesy, remember that at this point, Rosalie was still pretty pure minded:)**

**So, with all disclaimers aside, Rosalie and Emmett await you -- enjoy!**

After the ceremony, we walked hand in hand to the cabin where we were to spend our wedding night.

I would have preferred a less rustic spot – perhaps a nice hotel suite -- but Esme and Carlisle had insisted. Something about the conversation had seemed off. When I'd tried to pin Edward down on the topic, he had coughed and looked extremely uncomfortable.

So here we were, at dusk, standing before a log cabin in the woods not far from home. The walk had gone too fast; it felt more like a death march to me. I got a sinking feeling as I looked at the place. It was tiny, just one room.

What was I going to do once we were alone together?

Emmett swept me up in his arms and pushed on the door, which noiselessly swung open.

"Welcome home, Rosalie," he whispered in my ear as he stepped over the threshold.

Esme had been here. The entire place glowed in candlelight. The pine floors had a fresh-scrubbed look to them and what looked like armfuls of flowers were overflowing vases that had been tucked into the few nooks and crannies. Their scent was dusky, sweet and warm, and I felt heady as the lushness of it, cut by the astringent pine, rushed around me. It took but a second to take it all in and for my eyes to settle on the large bed that dominated the entire room.

I gulped as I looked at it in terror.

Emmett set me down lightly on my feet.

"Do you like it?" he asked, looking at me intently.

"Yes, it's lovely," I said, hoping he couldn't hear the quavering in my voice. I knew it wasn't possible, but I felt the heat of a fierce blush rage over my body as his eyes roamed me appreciatively.

He beamed and took my hands in his; he didn't seem to notice the slight flinch when I felt his touch. "I thought I might go out and stretch my legs a bit. I feel like I've been cooped up inside all day. Do you mind?"

"No, not at all," I answered, a little too quickly.

He looked at me quizzically. "You don't want to come with me?"

I shook my head. "You go on."

He looked at me again. For a moment I thought he was not going to let it go, but he thought better of it and smiled at me, a bright, wondrous grin that made my silent heart leap. He pulled me up against his massive chest and I gasped. I could feel every muscle, every inch of his strength.

"I won't be long," he promised, bending over to kiss me.

It was a long, slow kiss that drained me of all conscious thought and left me shuddering.

"Soon," he breathed against my ear as he unwrapped himself from my embrace and pulled away. In an instant he had disappeared out the door, leaving me swaying in the middle of the tiny cabin.

I listened to him running deeper into the woods, letting the tingling where he'd touched me slowly subside. Then I looked around again and noticed what Esme had left for me.

A pure white gown was hanging discreetly behind the head board. I floated over to it and touched one of its folds – it was the finest linen I'd ever felt. I spread it out, stretching my hands wide, and noticed the delicate lacework that made its way up from the tapered waistline and up the bodice until it ended in two straps. The lace was unlike any I'd seen before – vines and flowers and birds in flight, the pattern never repeating. The gown had a sweetheart neckline, perfect for my figure. The linen had been freshly pressed and smelled of peonies.

I sighed, letting go of the gown so the folds and gathers of the full skirt fell back in place.

"You thought of everything, didn't you, Esme?" I said, my lips twisting bitterly as I felt a fresh onslaught of nerves. "Everything except a terrified bride."

Esme's advice from earlier in the day echoed in my mind and I reconsidered the gown. Maybe Esme had the right idea. Maybe I could do this the right way, for Emmett. I couldn't let myself think of that night in Rochester, of Royce and his friends leering at me in the glow of the streetlights.

I slipped out of my wedding dress and stepped over to the nightgown. "Better do it now, before you lose your nerve," I muttered to myself.

*****

Emmett took his sweet time returning. At first his absence just made me even jumpier. I'd changed back and forth between my wedding dress and the nightgown ten times before finally, determined to see it through, I'd thrown the wedding gown into the fire. I'd checked my hair seven times, unpinning and re-pinning it, unsure if I should wear it up or down. I'd paced nervously, straining to hear the sound of his footfalls.

After an hour, though, my nerves had turned to anger. What could be so interesting out in the woods? Why wasn't he coming back to me?

_I'll show him,_ I thought, rifling through the small cabin. Surely Esme had thought to bring me a change of clothes for the next morning. Sure enough, I found a pair of dungarees and a plaid shirt folded neatly on top of a basket of books. _Perfect for some knuckleheaded mountain man's wife, _ I snorted to myself angrily as I shimmied into the pants.

The door swung open and Emmett swaggered in, a look of surprise on his face as he took me in, halfway between nightgown and dungarees.

"What's going on, Rose?" he asked innocently. His oblivious attitude only stoked my fury.

"How dare you!" I raged, hurling the first thing my hand found at his head.

His big hand snaked up and caught the book mere inches from his face. He didn't flinch, just cocked an eyebrow.

"What?" he said, tossing the book nonchalantly in the air, his golden eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Emmett McCarty, you are infuriating! How dare you keep me waiting!" I seethed.

Emmett smiled wickedly, tossing the book across the room, where it lodged into the wall. "Missed me, eh?" he purred.

I didn't even realize what I was doing when I launched myself against him, an angry warning growl roaring from my lips. He had braced himself for me and absorbed the blow, collapsing with exaggerated grace onto the floor, furniture crashing and floorboards splintering as we slid across the cabin, rolling over and over as we tangled with one another until we finally slid to a crash against the far wall, me on top.

He made no move to fight me as I railed against him. I wound up to throw my best punches, but my blows seemed to bounce off of his massive chest without any effect. Furious, I only swung harder.

Emmett chuckled. "You hit like a girl, Rosalie," he said, his lips twisting as he tried not to laugh at me.

I hissed and arched my back as I planted my hands on the floor near his head, baring my teeth close to his face.

Emmett smiled at me. It was so dazzling it stopped me cold. Confused, I leaned closer, hissing again.

His grin only widened.

I sat back, perplexed, my breath coming heavily as I settled my hands on my thighs and looked down on him in frustration.

"I take it you are no longer nervous to be…um, physical with me, Rosalie?" he said pointedly.

I looked down at myself. My hair had come out of its pins and cascaded wildly over my shoulders. At some point in the struggle, the lace on my bodice had been ripped apart, revealing the shadow between my full breasts and the alabaster of their full curve, which rose and threatened to spill out of the remaining lace as my breath came and went rapidly. The nightgown was hitched up around my hips and I straddled Emmett.

I felt him move against me and a wild burning raced through my body.

"Oh," I said as I realized what had just happened.

He shifted suddenly against me and I felt his hard contours against me, urgent and demanding.

"Oh," I whispered, confused by the rush of heat and longing that came over me, embarrassed to want him so viscerally, scared by the realization of what was about to happen. I snatched my hands up to my face, afraid I might touch him.

He wrapped an arm around me and pulled himself up so that I was sitting in his lap. Gently, he pried my fingers away and held them in his hand. I felt small and shy as he held me there. I tried to look away but he stopped me with a touch, willing me to look into his eyes.

"Rosalie," he whispered huskily, "it is okay to want this. It is more than okay; it is the way it should be."

He pulled me tight against his chest. My body was screaming out for him. Every place he touched me burned with desire. He trailed soft kisses against my neck, going lower to linger in the hollow of my collarbone, and I groaned. Involuntarily, I ground my hips against him and he growled playfully, nipping at my neck.

He pulled away, suddenly serious. He looked deep into my eyes and I shuddered at his intensity.

"I don't want to have to make you angry to lose yourself, Rosalie. And I won't push you. The only rule is that you're in charge," he said gravely before easing his body against the floor. The boards creaked and buckled as it settled under under his weight. "Tonight, and every night, for as long as you want to be."

I hesitated, unsure of what to do. He reached up for my hand and pulled it down to his chest.

"Undress me, Mrs. McCarty," he said, winking at me as he placed my fingers on the front of his shirt. "I'm all yours."

A shudder ran through my body as I wrapped my fingers around the first of the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons that ran down the front of his shirt, fumbling to get it open.

He looked up at me, his eyes smoldering and kind at the same time. "I love you, Rosey," he whispered, and the emotion in his voice took my breath away. Any semblance of thought flew from my mind.

"And I, you," I answered back, my ears filled with the sound of our shallow breaths, the creaking cabin, and the tear of fabric as I ripped open his shirt.

*****

I watched the pink and orange hues of dawn splash themselves across the sky and I nestled contentedly into the crook of Emmett's arm. Slowly, I was floating back into my body and my awareness of my surroundings was coming back. I could hear the gentle rush of the breeze as it rattled the great trees overhead, the birds chirping to announce the day, the quiet whisper of the long beach grass against the sand.

It took me a minute to realize that the reason I could see the sky was that the roof was gone.

And the walls.

I leapt to my feet, clutching a sheet to my body. "Emmett, we wrecked the cabin!" I glanced around and all I saw was splintered furniture amidst crushed logs and sawdust.

Emmett propped himself up on an elbow and eyed me wickedly. "Hmmm, so we did," he murmured.

"But…" My panic sputtered and died as I saw the look on his face.

"You knew," I said suspiciously.

"I had some idea," he grinned, jumping up to encircle me in his arms. "Carlisle thought it best if I knew what to expect."

I groaned. "Edward."

"Yes, Eddie-boy got a rude awakening after Carlisle and Esme got married. Carlisle said he felt quite badly about that. I'm sure he was reliving the whole thing every time you pestered him about our honeymoon."

"Oh my," I said, resting my head on Emmett's shoulder. I was embarrassed, remembering all the times I'd badgered Esme for us to be allowed to stay in a hotel and all the awkward conversations I'd put Edward through.

Emmett shrugged. "I can't help it that he can read my thoughts."

If I could have blushed, I would have been red from head to toe, remembering the night before. "You are so naughty, Emmett. Poor Edward."

He grinned. "Poor Edward, indeed. But it will be poor us if we're still here and any humans wander by."

He caught me up, sheet and all, in his strong arms.

"I love you, wife." He kissed my nose lightly. Seeing him up close, I was overwhelmed by the determined set of his jaw, the passion still burning in his eyes. A sudden realization hit me and I froze. He noticed the change in my expression before I could look away, but I buried my face anyway, unable to look him in the eye.

"What's this – shy?"

I shook my head, refusing to speak, afraid my voice would betray me.

"I didn't hurt you?" He asked quietly, a tone of dread in his voice.

"No," I whispered. "No, that's not it."

I searched for the words to tell him about the thought that had snuck inside my brain and refused to let me go. But they would not come. Frustrated, I began to sob, great, useless cries against his shoulder.

"Rosalie, Angel, what is it? Please tell me," he pleaded quietly. I heard the resignation in his voice and it shamed me.

I pushed myself off his chest and slipped lightly to the ground. I gulped in the fresh, piney air, trying to steady my nerves. The sheet I clutched about me was useless; I never felt more naked, more exposed, than I did in that moment. There, amidst the rubble of the cabin, I turned my face to his.

"Last night, Emmett…"

He flinched, expecting the worst. I placed my hand on his arm.

"It was the first time in two years that I have been able to stop thinking of…those men." I sighed a great, shaky sigh and smiled, refusing to break his gaze. The relief of having finally being able to forget about that night was overwhelming. "The first time, Emmett."

He looked at me, unsettled, unsure of what to do.

"Thank you," I whispered, wrapping him with me inside the sheet. "Thank you."


	45. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Emmett sidled up next to me, folding me into his arm. "Penny for your thoughts?" He growled low in my ear.

I looked up into his eyes and wondered what _he_ had been thinking through the whole ceremony. Sure, he'd cracked jokes, but had he been recalling the same things as me?

I'd been surprised how much I'd gotten caught up in the emotion of it. I still disapproved of what Bella and Edward were planning. It was so dangerous. And she was so foolish, throwing away her life. But seeing them recite their vows had touched me. And it brought all those old memories flooding back.

"Remember our first wedding, Emmett?"

He wiggled his eyebrows at me. "And our first honeymoon."

I poked him in the ribcage and pouted prettily for him. "Be serious."

He pulled a poker face. "Serious as a heart attack, Rose."

"So?"

"Yes, of course I remember," he said, squeezing my shoulder. "I was thinking about it during the ceremony."

I lay my head on his shoulder, reveling in his strength.

"You were as beautiful as an angel, and about as nervous as a cat on hot tin roof, I recall," he continued, a wicked grin stealing across his face. "But we seemed to have gotten pretty well past that by the end of that first night."

I let my mind drift back to that first night in the cabin Esme and Carlisle had bought just for us. "Reverse psychology. Very smart of you. I still say Edward put you up to it."

He played hurt and laid on the thick Southern accent he'd abandoned so long ago. "Give me some credit, Rosalie. I may have been mountain folk, but I had to deal with some ornery goats in my time. I knew how to make a critter _want_ to do something. Even a critter as stubborn as you."

He chuckled to himself. "And that house…."

"What was left of it," I added, my tinkling laughter twinning with his chuckle as we began to walk, holding hands.

We steered away from the crowd, careful to maintain human speed for the benefit of Bella's friends and family. The music of the reception faded into the background. The humans shivered in the late night wind and pulled their clothing close about them; to me, though, it felt like a summer wind kissing my skin, warm and gentle, and I reveled in it.

Emmett stopped and pulled me around to face him, his massive frame looming against the night sky.

"You're even more beautiful than the day we married," he said solemnly, rubbing his thumb across my chin.

I raised an eyebrow skeptically. "That's impossible, Emmett. I haven't changed a bit."

"You have," he insisted, his voice rough. He lifted his fingers and brushed a stray hair off of my forehead. "The shadows are gone from your eyes, Rose."

I caught my breath. Just when I'd thought he was going to come up with another joke, he'd managed to say something so sweet, so sincere, that it left me speechless.

He was both right and wrong. I still longed for the human things I'd lost. No matter how many weddings Emmett and I had, we would always be just the two of us, and there was a space in me that could never be filled as a result. But I had come to live comfortably with that emptiness; it was my companion almost as much as Emmett was. The pain of first knowing -- pain that had twisted into my soul like a rusty knife -- was buried deep now. And the memories of being brutalized by Royce and his friends, though burned into my memory, were something I mostly locked away. They did not define me anymore. I was so much more than that. It took Emmett to help me set aside those memories; it took him to help me see past that hurt and see what I still had inside of me.

I tilted my head and looked at him. "You chased the shadows away, Emmett."

He grinned down at me, the same mischievous, simple smile that had taken my breath away long ago on a mountain top in Tennessee.

I threw my arms around him and buried my face next to his silent heart. "You chased them away."

**A/N: So, this is the end of Rosalie's Revenge . Thank you all so much for having stuck with it for so long and for all your faithful reviews, which gave me lots of inspiration and lots to think about** **... I never knew when I set out to write this fanfic that it would take us this far, but I have really enjoyed writing for you and hope you enjoyed the reading. I am probably taking a break from FanFic for a while (going to write some original fic), but if you have any ideas for me, feel free to send them my way. I'm sure I won't be out of the Twilight universe for long:) Best wishes, and Happy Holidays -- Monica**


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